The doll has to go!

"Why was this in my room mother?"
Her question was piercing and menacing.

"I found Mary Louise in the mud in the back yard. I thought that you might had lost her. So I washed her and put her back on your bed."

Sarah threw the doll against the wall behind her mom. It smashed into pieces.
"Mary Louise was dead!! I buried her."
She was hysterical and angry.
She set her arms locked in her hips and took an Angry tone. "Big girls don't play with dolls!"

PS.
(foto belongs to Joyce Mars, https://www.facebook.com/JoycePhotoSupport )

PPS. (support! support!)

She probably has a boyfriend

She probably has a boyfriend.

"Hello, I'm that creep that posted something on your new picture last week.
Why haven't you gotten back to me?"

If you think that is creepy, then you are right.
I you think that is exaggerated, you must not have been to the Internet before.

I can not imagine what it would be like, to be a woman and surfing the web.
I can not imagine, what it would feel like to see the comment, "babe I love you" at least ten times per day.
Or "girl you're so pretty", for every picture you upload.

I have not the slightest clue what that girl must go through, when all the boys cruising her profile, ask her to go on cam.
Even though I don't know just as well, how they missed that part of her profile, warning all the creepers not to do that.


This is all a lie of course and even while I am still a man, using the Internet like all the other men do.
Cruising website after website, in pursuit of girls.
I find myself making excuses for my gender and their cock-thinking behavior.
I find myself consolidating those girls that keep getting all the unwanted attention.

Am I a pervert?
Am I a sicko? 
Am I any better, since I'm still trying to get into her pants as well?
Although she probably already has a boyfriend...
I wonder how they met?

Probably offline.
I bet he is a nice guy.
Not the Internet definition of a "Nice guy",
Some easily aggravated, skill-less teeny-bopper, who grew up on the words Bitch and Slut.
Who has a twisted world view,
Who feels entitled to her love, for the minimal attention he gave her every day...last week

Do they think I'm like that?
Do I?
I'm not really a "nice guy", but I'm not the kindest person neither.
"Would you be so kind to fuck off", is for when I'm going soft on you.
I try really hard to keep the rage inside.
To keep the noises down. To keep the voices out,
that tell me I am a horrible man, who must do horrible things. Right now!

Let's hope she has a boyfriend,
who will protect her from me.

Smile and be happy!

Fluffy puppies and pony rides with stay at home fathers.

Catholic school girls and kids who help their mothers.

Sugar canes and cotton candy.

Proper women and guys that dress, oh so dandy.

Tranquility gardens and nature CD's.

Good report cards and educational TV.

Happy smiles on everyones face.

SET IT ALL ABLAZE.

Overly Attached Boyfriend

Maybe, I should just strap a bandanna around my forehead like a hippie.
To stop this scratching and let it heal.
Because it's itching on my brain,
is this the way of how I feel?

For there are butterflies in my stomach and I have lost my appetite.
I'm afraid that I'm too clingy,
but it felt like we were tight.
Am I right?

Maybe I'm just paranoid, or preparing for the worst.
When will I learn to fight?
I flee before the final act.
Call for the curtains, over stage fright.

I love you, that I'm sure of.
But I'm too poor to buy new shoes.
Though will that really be an issue.
Are we that loose of a noose.

What is it that ties us together?
Is it deeper than skin deep.
I can't wait to reunite with you.
One more second and I might weep.

I miss you, in all our messages.
it's only been six days, since our last depart.
But living over distances,
is breaking the last pieces of my tattered heart.

A world between Internet and reality

We come home, loosen our shackles.
We undo ourselves, of our earthly possessions.
We feel at our best in the nude.
When we warm ourselves in nothing but our own bodies.

crawled behind the screen that is a door, to a highway of information.
we scribble each our own words, in a language that we are proud of.
cry out through a portal, to contact other lost souls.
that is how we found each other.

as we lay under this warm blanket in my room.
we look back at the short period we that we've known each other.
wishing it was longer.
But as we grow tired of our siblings and our old friends, as we outgrow our youth.
We become adults.

We turn off the portal, to this information age.
As We are between the two of us, just fine by ourselves.
Won't you spend another night? I whisper.
As we lay there together, confessing our old sins, lighting another cigarette.

Let's do this again some time!
I promise, it will be grander then before.
As much joy as you have already given.
I'll have a long time to repay.

Let me buy you earthly possessions, to which we shackle ourselves.
As long as we stay together I will protect you from the shackles of the rest of this decaying
world, that is living in the information age.
Why can't more people just find each other?
Find what they were looking for?
Like when you found me?

Alien Voicemail

Miss Cyrus,
we have called to congratulate you

on your brilliant plan.
The Humans never even saw it coming

and it is all thanks to your super bowl concert of 2021.
It was a marvelous idea of Lord Bieber,

to make the broadcast mandatory and viral.
We wouldn't want to repeat that horrible event,

with the egg-head rebellion in 2017.

4 years it took us,

to deplete the intelligence of the humans back to zero,

we have lost a lot of harvest opportunities because of that.

Now miss Cyrus, you can start the operations,

as we've discussed.
Command your army of brainless drones

and tell them to start the orgies.
The transport can start as soon as the clinics are stocked.

You can deduce your payment,

of 500 fetuses per month of off the proceeds
and again Miss Cyrus, 

congratulations on your first planetary domination.

For the glory of our lord Deutronius,
end of transmission.

Black sludge, drips from the pen, onto the canvas.

Daily words 03.05

paint it black
now darker.
This is a painting with no colors,
only depth.

backs hurt and bottles broken.
Words used like weapons,
but they can't stop the war.
As they fall upon deaf ears.

The cockroaches are the ones who survive the bombs.
They greedily swarm the defecated lands.
But I don't think they give anything back to it.

"So you want to be a writer?
Then what is your cause?"
You don't just climb on top that podium,
just for the applause.

I'm standing on the rooftop, ready to fall.
All my compassion has dried from my tear glands,
I feel like I have no empathy left to give.
I invited the world into my heart,
it stabbed me and stole my wallet.

I'm standing on the rafters, where I give an echoing applause,
to your four words strung together, over the course of a month drinking.
The silence, when I grab the microphone, has my heart sinking.
It might have taken me less then half an hour,
but I'm standing here with a written part of my soul exposed.

Help?!
I'm a social warrior on Tumblr, but nobody takes my causes serious
and my head-mates are telling me, it's because I'm backing the wrong team.
But isn't a starving thin white man more privileged then a fat black woman?

Funny how nobody feels grateful to be alive,
not even if they are born with a golden spoon in their mouth.
Probably because tiffany's parents fed her daughter,
with a spoon made platinum engraved with crystals and because she got the Iphone5,
3 days before me.

Timmy is also an ungrateful whiner, it's not our fault you get bullied over those shoes.
They're worn out and ugly.
Why don't you just ask your alcoholic father for some new ones.
Just make sure you hide his belt and take five steps back, so you can have a running start.

Last time I called you all suckers at the end of my poem and everybody laughed,
at how I dared to call my own mother a Christian whore.
I'm sorry for being so inconsiderate last time,
it won't happen any more.