"Survivor Series"
Mr. Stranger
I take a look in the mirror and I’m pissed off anger.
I used to recognize myself, now I’m Mr. Stranger.
Open up my bottle, take another sip of hatred…
Now I wish the whole world could be eviscerated.
I watch as my face just shifts and changes…
from something likeable with a hint of saneness…
into something monstrous with a pinch of sadist…
And it’s clear my emotions make me go ape sh*t
The sounds of my tirade might make your playlist.
The chaos and carnage mix is just my favorite.
I used to be jovial but now those memories faded.
Laughter used to be part of my colloquial language…
Now my speech is jaded.
I used to be an intellectual, now my brain is vacant…
Used to hide away my sorrow, now my pain is blatant…
I fooled them all along, my happiness was makeshift…
Pressure to fit the norm means I just fake it.
I won’t rage against the machine again, I’ll just break it
You can deceive yourself, but I won’t lie in the snake pit.
I’m choosing the road less travelled and I’d like to pave it.
The lemming lore you restore, wipes you faceless…
because a drone won’t moan if you enslave it.
I’m the familiar Mr. Stranger you always hide away quick…
So introduce me to the world because it’s time for…
Face lifts.
©2010 Malik Peterson. All Rights Reserved.
You and I
It is I that is I…
and you that is you.
So why do you cry…code blue
when I don’t do that which you…
know I won’t do?
I know you…
and I am known to you.
So what makes you think that I owe you clues?
I’m making sense in my dedication.
Don’t let the frankincense and myrrh blur your education…
the frankly scented spurs spurn your examination.
Why should I tell a lie…an exaggeration?
Your evaluations…
of these “me to you” relations…
are becoming baseless.
I can’t crusade for my own cause by becoming faceless.
I’ve got no obligation…
to make makeshift approximations…
about where we stand in relation to the same station.
The obligation of I to you is nil.
I rely on my mind to decide how I choose to use my will.
A fool’s goal is fool’s gold…but still…
If I choose it and I lose it…will you be ill?
I am me.
I am free.
Yet you try to shackle my actions and can’t appreciate the irony.
You side with me? Only when I hide do you decide to seek
Then you boil inside when I decline to lie beside the mindless sheep.
I’ve found my own way and the finders keep.
Why should I take the blame because your mind is weak?
If your kind is meek…then go ahead and inherit the earth.
Stop looking in my direction to merit your worth.
I wasn’t there to cry or care at your birth…
So why now do you feel pride or cry when you stare at my work?
I am not an example to be followed to the letter “T”…
unless you follow the example of me trying to be a better me.
You’re responsible for you and believe me it is possible to…
disregard what I do if it isn’t best for you.
If my ship sinks…you don’t have to go down with the rest of the crew.
Your path is not mine…so it’s high time you invested in you.
What If The World…
What if the world was…
Peach cobbler and ice cream sundaes…
Cherries on top of every single Monday…
Taking flight from whipped-cream runways…
Root beer floats topping off your fun days.
What if the world was…
Marshmallow mountains serving as elevators to the sky…
Drinking from Coca-Cola wells that never run dry…
Banana split ships for a lazy boat ride…
On lemonade lakes…out to vacation mansions fashioned from pie.
What if the world was…
Candy Cane Lane attached to every street name…
A picture perfect circus with no need to frame…
because the “Gum drop bounce” is our favorite game…
and golden notes from throats is a language we all speak the same.
What if the world was…
Poetic justice?
What if the world wasn’t…
Bad men in badlands turning dreams to trash cans…
Strung out babies that have been dealt bad hands…
War and famine pouring out of our glands…
Utopia unachievable and out of our plans…
What if the world wasn’t…
A trip down Skid Row with history as an introduction
An honorable mention at the hall of shame plus up for induction
A smorgasbord of ill accord…at the slaughter house…an eruption
A hodgepodge of odd nods and opened bods…a likely consumption
What if the world wasn’t…
Dying breeds of honored kings being a rarity like iron seeds…
Fire breathed across lands causing hired hands to die…of dire need…
Ire being mired in the muck of murderous minions that admire when a sire bleeds
Desired things acquired behind the scenes fiendishly…which requires fiends
What if the world wasn’t…
What we made of it?
©2010 Malik Peterson. All Rights Reserved.
Bombs Over Utopia
By: Malik Peterson
Let’s see…
Where do I start?
To tell the truth I had a vision…
But this sudden indecision sickens my precision
Not to mention…I’m less than smitten by the public’s position…
of…
battle cry this, battle cry that…we won’t give in to submission.
But listen…
They don’t drop bombs over Utopia.
So in this land of hocus pocus fluff…
We throw our fists in the air, hoping our showing’s tough
Letting our voices be heard as one is explosive…plus
Our mighty cry will open the sky, rain fire and brimstone upon those opposing us.
And we don’t worry about blowing up…
because…they don’t drop bombs over Utopia.
So after the remonstration, or demonstration…it’s back to the sheisha bar smoking stuff.
Sending our hearts out to the hopeless ones is close enough.
My rage subsides as I blow and puff
I mean…sure…their going’s rough
But I came, I saw, my feet pounded pavement, that was me showing up.
All the while they sleep on the streets in a lonely tuck…
Because their dwellings, their homes have been wholly plucked…
off the face of the planet, by a lowly, soulless, unholy schmuck.
So we take all that energy and we focus what?
Let’s get a good night’s sleep on a cozy huck-
a-back well rested carries the load while they're froze and stuck
in the only place they know now…the coldest rut
.
.
.
So my position is mental transmission with the most high…
making rivers flow from both eyes.
And while I ask for their release from tyranny…I give thanks that…
they don’t drop bombs over Utopia…
Because if they did….
what would you do then?
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