poetry

Apocalyptic Activism

Bones tired,
will expired,
now sour,
lack power,
lack movement.
Improvement
futile.
Political dial
broken off,
sent into space
without a trace.
Away with logic,
to hell with peace.
Our planet’s lease
ending,
evicted.
Science predicted
heat waves,
dance raves.
Hurricane,
litocane,
collagen,
glamour sin.
Lush lips,
stock dips,
Flint sips
a pathetic excuse.
Water,
getting hotter.
Women walking
museums.
We’re so dumb,
give us some
attention,
bad intention.
Cat fight,
a trite sight,
despite
our innocence.
Compete for jobs
not slobs.
Kiss The Man,
not a man.
Grab pussy,
you wussy.
Honey,
money Trumps
choices,
voices,
losing hope,
grab the rope.
Pray for end,
let Her send
a quick goodbye,
for this land, I’ll die
so She can sigh,
and wonder,
why?

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poetry

Persist

By Amy Thomson

Can I get a revolution with a side of fries, please?
Can I get a transformation, hold the fucking lies, please?
Can I get a reformation, choke it down with my rage?
Can I get some dedication so we make the same wage?
We’re radical, original, principal, and pivotal.
Constitution, restitution, institution, execution.
Politicians in my pussy, white men talking ovaries.
Baby saviors run the clinics, armed with beaded rosaries.
Are we stupid for demanding bodily autonomy
when our tits and asses run this Free Market Economy?
“Sit down, baby baby, you’re so cute when you’re mad.”
“Calm down, baby baby, ditch this women power fad.”
“Smile for me, baby baby, strut that ass down the street.”
“Shake it for me, baby baby, you’re my fucking piece of meat.”
Exist, resist, assist, persist.
Exist, resist, assist, persist.