The most gates at society,
hey!
Propped on the sand
in an eurythmic sweet sense,
I look at humanity in raw oysters.
There’s nothing there
that makes us rise above our bull.
We get decimated sometimes,
and the humility lasts an hour.
I don’t understand all this mess.
It’s popcorn and candy
to our sense of self
tryin’ to prove our worth to one another.
Look how big I am,
and we can say that so subtly.
I mean look at me will yah?

Can we spend this?
It’s expensive not to see.
I count this in humanity
in everywhere I wait,
in all the plays of the crowd.
I want to get bigger than myself.
Little everybody treats me,
and I’m offended in my self-wears,
and little I am.
I can’t seem to see this
when I’m in a fight.
I don’t know how to handle it
when I’m spellbound.
Can I list my achievements please?
Can I show you my worth,
again?

Do I have to eat lunch with myself again?
You’re not listening to me.
If I was two I’d pitch a fit.
That’s where I learn to get you to pay attention to me.
I get expert at it
by the time I’m twelve,
and then all hell breaks loose,
and I’m just shit-canned again,
too old to get my way.
Is that when the braggin’ starts?
I have got to show you I’m worth,
but I’ve lost all the old ploys,
and I’m doin’ it again,
wantin’ you to validate my self-worth
the modicum of humanity.

Is that all turned on
to kick-start our humanity,
the pedestal I preach to you?
Wow, I can sound so good in words.
Do I hide behind my writing
I knock down every word I say
in some pinch or another
that my hypocrisy wears?
The hypocrisy of others stuns me.
I’ve never seen anything like it
anywhere on the planet.
There is no accountability for it.

Wow do I read sweet words.
Can you solve the problem with love without love?
You just get likes for it.
Nowhere does it bring social change.
The social understanding that you’re the victim too,
my God that’s the pants we wear.
Get people arrested will yah?
That’s all you’ve done.
You’ve crime and punishmented the thing.
Everybody gets mad at people.
It’s how you social change,
with a baseball bat,
but we can’t hypocrisy our way out of this.
Love has to be love or it’s not love.
Understanding holds you sweet.
It doesn’t embarrass you in front of the crowd.

Where do we go with our social understanding
to see the lies arise in everybody
where we find our brotherly love?
Can you understand that?
I can’t cover this.
I can’t even say it.
You just write beautiful words.
You don’t mean them,
and there’s no way to show you you don’t.
You’ve got that covered.
You can’t see them
in the arms they wear.
You can make yourself sound pretty good,
but unconscious springs get yah
when the spell of your unconscious arise
and offers your behavior to meanness.

There is not a day I don’t encounter this
in somebody.
You’ve encountered a rat
in everything society says about me.
The principles of love and pray don’t apply here,
and you have permission to shoot me
in your thought,
and that’s a release mechanism
like all society wears.
If I even say the name you’ll hate me,
and there is no way out of this.

I could have done a better poem
and kept my social status out of this,
but we can’t spend your hypocrisy on nothin’.
You’re just bruise your shield
in that unspeakable name.
Now where you at?
I don’t think it’s in loving shares.
Oh you do your family alright,
a satellite I,
but to love humanity you must wear
everything in humanity you hate,
identifying with that behavior.
It don’t come out any other way,
the principle in your subconscious
communicating that spell
“oh I’ve encountered someone I don’t like,”
and in the roles of identity
you have to know you’re there:
I am humanity.
This gets larger than everybody,
but you can’t find it
without accepting everybody.

The roles are mean,
even in children,
and I need to see this in myself,
and I bridge it that way
to its appropriate goodness.
You hear this now.
I’m taking myself and getting myself out of the way,
not for any humanity worth,
not so you can see me.
I just want to be myself, okay,
the actual me,
the thing I am behind the play,
not yet angel wings,
but the natural me
that’s not stuck to anything
that can afford to be nice
because nice is what it does
our human soul,
and nary a subconscious spell can touch it,
no matter where you meet life.

The basement’s all cleaned out,
and this comes down from on high,
if you want to know the truth of it.
You can’t just declare your love.
You have to raise it up out of you
in the skeletons you wear.
Can you get my pen rose?
Can you hear it please?
You have to get down and dirty and clean,
at least in the eyes you wear.
Whatever you do,
see it.

I’m gettin’ down to the natural colors of my room.
Do you hear that?
Look at yourself some mirror.
Roles involved with sweetness,
and you’re being bigger than the heys of the crowd.
Just don’t recognize that’s where you want mental health to go.
Good for her,
good for him,
take advice.