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SOme CAll Me ToNy

Ramblings, thoughts, ideas. My ways of killing time and not people.

Month

September 2015

The Price Of Being Female

Desecrated, violated, penetrated
The innocence once consecrated
Phallic weapons making men feel tall
As they prey upon those they see as small
Flashing images burnt into minds
As they long to go back to more harmless times
All are now threats
Claiming fictional debts
As fruit meant for taking
But the ground they are raking
Another soul’s land
As they try to stand
On their own two feet
But all the eyes they meet
Seem to know what was done
To that damaged one
Walking a grey line
As hounds shout out “Fine
Sexy, gorgeous”
No beauty to these words
These bullets just hurt
Pulling at skin
As they act on these sins
On these victims they take turns
Victims preying their souls will burn
The price of being female

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Holes In Our Walls

This pattern goes sideways in the paper on the wall
We don’t want it put it back on the stall
This paper is worthless
Descended from confetti that the bride fell under
Worthless scraps of paper woven from plunder
It calls itself decor but we see the truth
How can it be decor, where is the proof?
We are the bricks and mortar and walls
We are the roofing on houses and malls
We built this foundation now need it ran
We care not for cleaning out cans
Get this paper up there on the wall
It will cover up that hole in the wall
The one where his fist went straight through
He missed his wife’s head as she ducked on cue
Patch up the hole with this worthless paste
Then set it to work on cleaning this place
Let us sit back and relax and observe
And as things go wrong we’ll call for the nurse
The nurse is quite new but so very tame
We taught her our language and gave her her name
She’ll heal and mend and fix and treat
If she’s lucky she’ll get scraps left to eat
She is one with the inverted styles
Of the papers that roll for miles and miles
She was amongst them but now she’s grown up
It’s what happens when you pluck the longest blade
Of grass out of the glade and say
“You are special, unique, so fine”
Then turn and to the others remind
“You are all worthless, nobodies, done”
As you walk away with your special one
But green is as green as grass is like grass
The paper never did patch that hole in the wall
The carpet has mould from where raindrops fall
We’d fix it ourselves but we’ve given them work
When we want it ourselves we’ll claim they came here to hurt
We might build a wall to keep them outside

Thoughts

All people really talk about is life and death. How far from/close to death they are and how to pass the time with their life as they go

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