Radio The poet

A drop of ink may make a million people think. -Lord Byron

[radiothepoet]

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Welcome

Welcome to my blog! You can call me Radio!

I am 18, and I use He/they/pup/book pronouns!

I really hope you like it here!

On this blog I will post various poetry that I write!

I am hoping that this blog goes place, I love writing, and I am hoping to share that love for writing with the world.

I really hope you enjoy my poems, reblog if you’d like! So that way my poems reach more people! If you’d have any questions, feel free to put them in my inbox!

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[radiothepoet]

Acceptance

This poem is more so of a letter than a poem, though it is mostly that too.

Over a year ago, I was obsessed with you.

Thinking about you everyday.

My very mood was dictated off of how you felt and thought of me.

For three months back in 2024 I was in a state of limerence over you. Though I did not realize that was what it was…

We never fought,

We never disagreed,

We laughed together,

I told you my secrets,

You told me yours.

You were my friend.

My best friend.

I loved you. Even if not in a romantic way.

You promised me that you wouldn’t leave without saying anything,

I remember you reassuring me of that fact.

That security had calmed my heightening anxiety that had constantly arose in my stomach,

That sickening anxiety that has been holding me back from everything my entire life out of pure fear of rejection or pain.

Held me back from telling you how much I truly cared.

Don’t get it twisted, the love was never romantic.

I was just a mentally ill person who just so happened to get attached to you because compared to everybody else, you were the nicest.

We bonded quickly,

And you gave me attention by feeding into the same interests that I had at the time that we just so happened to share.

You promised that you wouldn’t leave without saying anything,

And yet you did.

Everywhere I went you you gone,

You blocked me.

And that hurt me.

We never fought,

We never disagreed,

We laughed together,

I told you my secrets,

You told me yours.

You defended me through everything.

I felt safe with you.

And yet last year on march 10th you were gone,

and without the explanation you promised me you’d give.

For months, I couldn’t get over it.

I tried to,

good god I tried too…

But holding on was eating me alive,

Even though I couldn’t really control that holding on.

But I did let go, eventually.

It pained me to do, but I had no other choice.

It was either let go and leave you in the past,

Or cling onto the memories I shared with you in hopes that you would come back,

when I knew that you wouldn’t.

I realize now that it was stupid of me to believe that you’d come back,

But I also realize that I shouldn’t beat myself up for it.

I didn’t know that you were going to do that,

I did nothing wrong to you,

as far as I’m concerned and aware of, I am not the on at fault here.

But that doesn’t really matter now.

I wonder sometimes if you grew to be uncomfortable by my presence,

Or got pressured or convinced to do so by the people around you,

And maybe that’s why you left.

But I will never truly know.

And that’s fine.

That’s okay.

I’m okay with that,

even if my curiosity isn’t.

Reznov/Vitya, I know that you will never see this poem.

But should you ever see it, and want to come back to me,

And give me an explanation,

Give me the reason you promised you’d give two years ago,

My arms, and my DMs, will always be open for you.

But if not,

That is okay too.

I’ve accepted it now.

Sometimes you need to make closure for yourself.

And if that means for me finally getting over you and the feelings I had towards you,

then I suppose it is what I’ve come to have to do.

Those feelings weren’t easy to get over, I’ll admit.

But I’ve accepted your walking out on my life now.

Even if I may never get a reason from you,

Whatever that reason may have been,

That’s okay.

That’s fine.

I’ve accepted that now.

Acceptance is Important,

Especially in cases like these where the answer may never be given to you.

So you either have to make an answer for yourself,

Or accept the absence of it and go through life without one.

This poem, is me doing the latter.

I accept now that I may never get an explanation on why you suddenly wanted to walk out of my life,

but no matter what,

I will still be here.

Waiting for you to come back,

should you ever choose to do so.

But at this point,

I have accepted that you may never will.

[loveridden1999]

to the young who want to die by gwendolyn brooks

[radiothepoet]

I wish I was worse

I wish I was worse,

So that way my mental health could finally be taken seriously.

My love,

My life,

My mind,

All of it is effected by a brain once not damaged by years of trauma and stress.

Quickly,

I wish for it to end.

But the only way for it to end is death,

And death only comes two ways…

Fast, or slow.

I stare at my screen at the only people who actually care,

And yet can’t do anything to help me in real life.

Can’t yell at my abusers,

Can’t fight them for me,

Can’t sign me up for therapy.

My far away friends,

You are very beloved to me.

Know that it is because of you all that I have not taken another visit to the medicine cabinet,

Or have rushed to seek out a rope.

Again.

I wish I was worse.

Maybe then, my family would listen.

Maybe then, I wouldn’t be punished for my outburst, but considered, and helped.

That’s all I’ve ever wanted was help…

Help cleaning my room,

Help with my homework,

Help with emotional regulation,

My parents weren’t to good with that last one.

I was left to do that one on my own…

They wouldn’t have understood.

I couldn’t have gone to them.

They’re the reason for my tears.

Protip:

Never look for comfort within the source of your pain and suffering.

I wish I was worse.

Because maybe then…

And only then…

They would see with a clarity unlike anything before;

Maybe then the true extend of my pain would finally be acknowledged.

And maybe then…

If I were worse…

My first thought in tough situations wouldn’t be death.

[radiothepoet]

Father

Father, you do not love me.

Quit pretending like you do.

Your love is a fable.

Simply a story,

A religious law that is never practiced.

You sit like you’re the king,

But your highness, your kingdom is collapsing…

You’re the man of a house,

But the house has cracks and dents and holes,

And you won’t get them fixed.

You may be the king,

The man of the house,

But you hold no dominion here.

You hold no real power here.

So get off your high horse,

The horse isn’t even yours.

You sit back and let your wife berate and hurt your children,

Why don’t you help them?

Father,

Why don’t you help me?

While the way she hurts is not physical,

But it leaves invisible bruises that can last for a life time.

And yet you still enable her.

Gaslight her into believing that she’s correct when she’s not.

At 14 she told me to kill myself,

You didn’t believe papaw when he said it,

You were angry when you heard.

And you took that out on me.

But even when she finally remembered what she had said and confessed…

You did not stand up for me.

Not a single word spilled from your lips as she called me a bitch.

Father, you do not love me.

So quite pretending as if you do.

You yell at me,

Avoid me,

But want to butt-in to play father of the year when it’s convenient for your image.

Your love is a fable,

Like a principle of a religion that always goes ignored and unpracticed,

Practically abolished by its practitioners.

You are no dad,

Not to me,

Not to anyone.

By blood you are my father,

But you are not my dad.

As far as I am concerned,

I have no dad.

And I am content with that.

[radiothepoet]

Mother

Mother dearest always has something to say,

Good or bad

It is the same things every time.

But despite it all,

I still love you.

Because I know that you are trying to be good,

And despite it all—I know you can be better, even if you don’t realize that you need to be…

One minute you are my mother,

The woman who gave birth to me, and the woman who raised me.

The next moment you’re my mom.

The lady who cared enough to be there,

The woman that who—despite everything—showed up for me when my father failed too.

But a dream is only a dream.

Not often are they actually achievable.

I could dream all day and all night about a perfect life.

But then you yell at me and I get reminded of reality.

What I live with,

WHO I live with,

And what could’ve caused this.

And you don’t like it when I yell back,

Because you know that as soon as I do…

You will be looking at of yourself;

A portrait of what you once was,

And/or what you could’ve been.

And admitting that you did something wrong,

Means admitting that you are not as much of a good parent as you thought,

Or that somebody did wrong by you,

And that what happened to you was not normal.

Just as what happened to me was not normal.

You were loving,

You were horrible,

You tried,

But you weren’t enough…

I am not ungrateful,

I am not a spoiled brat,

But you really make me feel like it sometimes…

I was a good child,

I am a good child,

And there’s nothing that will ever change that.

No amount of acts of rebellion could ever wash away the pure heart you fail to realize I still have.

And mother dearest,

To I say this last thing…

When my death arrives,

Don’t say that there were no sighs,

Because there absolutely was.

You just ignored them.

[radiothepoet]

Broken

I cry alone in my bedroom,

Quiet and contained,

As to make sure I do not set off your alarm.

You are a warden disguised as a parental figure,

A person made to love, not to hurt.

And yet I come to place again and again…

Crying alone;

Because of the things you said,

Because of the things you did,

To me,

To the things that I love,

You have betrayed me again and again.

I love you mother.

But my flashlight is loosing its battery.

I am a flashlight into so many peoples lives,

Bringing smiles to their faces,

And a brighter sun to their cloudy days.

But that flashlight is dimming…

Flickering…

Loosing its battery.

And I do not have replacements.

Once the light in the flashlight dies, so do I.

And when the casket shuts closed,

And I am finally buried in the dirt,

I want you to ask yourself if it was worth it.

Was it worth all of the yelling?

The fighting?

The privacy invasion?

Throwing my personal belongings away because I did not meet your standards?

Was it worth the humiliation?

The fear you put in me?

All of it has led to now.

THIS is the result, the consequences of your actions.

I ask you again—

Was it worth it?

As my body lays dead and cold in the ground,

No longer accessible to you,

A body you will no longer get to hug,

A body you will no longer get to say goodnight too,

A child you will never see again…

You will both will wonder what went wrong.

What you two could’ve done better.

But it was right in your face and you ignored it…

You punished me for it…

As young as ten I was struggling,

I cut myself.

As young as eleven I thought about hanging myself.

You saw the sketchbook.

You saw the dairy.

And you yelled at me,

And you punished me.

What should’ve given you concern for your babies well being,

Gave you nothing but rage towards your baby.

And so you punished me for struggling,

Making me throw away the only documented evidence of my struggle as punishment for daring to have difficulties.

Mommy dearest,

My dear father,

My mother and father…

My mom and dad…

My parents…

My protectors,

My caretakers,

The people who led to my downfall…

Do not cry at my funeral.

You should not be suprised.

Either of you.

You saw this coming,

And instead of helping me,

You punished me more than I was already punishing myself.

So when my coffin is finally buried underground,

My body cold and lifeless,

I want you to know that my spirit will still be around.

I will be watching.

But I will not be watching over you…

And I will not be there to hug you…

Even if I end up doing so anyways…

My heart is filled with hatred for both of you and yet my heart still breaks,

My lips still wobble,

And my eyes still overflow with tears if I’m away for too long…

I still love you.

Even if I hate you.

You do not deserve my love,

But I give it anyways…

A dimming flashlight still has a little bit of battery left in it.

[radiothepoet]

The art of music

I’ve heard of the AI “singer” and “artist” Xania Monet and needless to say, as a singer and musician myself I am pretty pissed off. So I projected that anger into a poem. As a poet, I feel like it is my duty to make stuff like this.

Enjoy.

The art of music…

It is an art that can be done by anyone, in almost any way.

Some people play instruments.

Guitars,

Pianos,

Cellos,

Drums,

Harps…

Some people sing.

Some people do it professionally and make it big,

Others do not.

Some people don’t make it big,

But that’s okay.

Some people sing as a hobby,

Some people teach others to sing.

We stand divided as different people,

People from different backgrounds,

People with different kinds of voices and talent;

But we stand together with our shared love of the art of music.

Music is what drives the soul,

Inspires us to take action for the bettering of humanity,

Music is a natural part of humanity that AI simply cannot recreate.

AI will try to replicate the beauty of the human voice,

The art we make with our natural hand,

The art that drives movements and saves lives.

We cannot let AI destroy such an important part of our world.

Music is a special and sacred thing,

Many cultures of humanity have it.

Have their own sacred songs,

Rhythms,

And beats,

We may be different in where we come from, and what our cultures are,

But music will ALWAYS bring us together.

Done professionally or not,

Music makes a pathway.

For the true ones,

the singers,

The artists,

Those who have worked forever and a day to perfect the art of music.

A singer can only do so much in times like these…

When AI is taking over our very lively hoods, what’s an artist to do?

What’s an artist to do when a spot that should be theirs is taken by a woman who isn’t even a real person…

A “singer” and an “artist” who’s music is produced with a few buttons,

An “artist” whose “art” is made with little to no effort at all.

REAL music by REAL singers and artists takes actual EFFORT to make.

The voice is connected to one’s soul,

Unique to that human being,

and that human being alone.

Their music,

Their singing voice,

Their talent,

It’s all unique in a way that AI will NEVER be able to recreate.

A 3 million record deal.

Think about that.

A lady who doesn’t even exist,

Who’s voice isn’t even technically her own,

Landed a record deal worth 3 million because of her music.

This is not the art of music.

This was NEVER the art of music,

And never will be.

Music is an art unlike any other,

An art in-which AI will never recreate as perfect as humans can.

My fellow singers,

My fellow musicians,

Please remember that your abilities as a human and an artist is beyond comprehension.

Your voice,

Your talent,

All of it is uniquely YOU.

It is your job as an artist to make sure our world is not destroyed.

Xania Monet is not a soul,

She is a machine with a pretty face.

A machine powered by AI,

The very thing that will destroy our world is left unchecked.

Xania is a machine,

And a machine cannot create true human art.

A machine will never be able to recreate the art of music.

[radiothepoet]

Intimate

(This one’s gonna be a tad spicy yall, beware)

Intimate is the word we use to describe many things.

The word we use to describe things that are close,

Personal,

Private,

Things that are uniquely ours.

Things that we only share with those who we feel worthy enough to share it with.

My body is something intimate,

Something intimate that I choose to only share with a few.

My beauty is one shining star in an ocean of many,

Many other shining stars have gotten the intimate experience,

Let me be one of the many.

Let me be one of the many who gets to share my body with you.

I wish to have you,

And I know that you want me too.

Lady Luck wishes to kiss you,

Why won’t you let her?

On your bed is where I look up at the sky, needy and breathless…

The floaty feeling comes in as you let me know who I belong too,

The covers becomes softer,

The room becomes a heavy, pleasing space as I become nothing but moans and giggles.

The sweet care that comes with intimacy…

It’s something I crave constantly…

I sweet smile,

A warm embrace,

A body on mine,

Something…

Someone to make me feel good.

The intimacy between lovers is something is unmatched.

The love,

The safety,

The intimacy,

All of it is sacred in its own way.

Enjoyed in a variety of ways by many.

And to the stars who love, cherish, and hold their intimate partners with just as much love and compassion,

Know that you’re special.

Kind.

Loving.

A beautiful and unique star in an ocean of many others.

Your intimacy is yours and yours alone;

Yours alone to please yourself however you please.

Intimacy is good for the soul,

Special for human beings.

And I can’t wait to have it.

[radiothepoet]

Take a bite.

The darkness gets so close to consuming me sometimes…

You never know when a wolf will come out wanting to hunt some rabbits.

Being a natural target isn’t easy,

But having protection is amazing.

Not many have it though…

To be prey is to be cursed,

You’re hunted from the get-go.

Loved but hated,

Adored but hunted,

And most people Never find proper peace in their lives.

The darkness that is the stress and trauma of constantly being someone’s prey will get to you,

It is terrifying sometimes being prey.

Because you never know when someone will be wanting to take a bite…

The wolves start hunting you young,

Some get bitten,

Others don’t…

Some survive,

Other do not…

The feral wolves will have you locked in their jaws, desperate to get a single bite of you to satisfy their disgusting hunger…

And most of the time…

You can’t do a single thing about it.

Sometimes you’re born into it;

Born into the woods full of feral wolves of which you cannot escape.

They bite you,

Feed on you,

Destroy you slowly,

And kill you.

All for a single bite.

Even when you think you’re safe, you’re not.

Once it’s happened, there is not a single place in this world where a wolf isn’t lurking.

Lurking with its sharp teeth,

It’s hunger,

It’s feral and wild mind,

Just waiting for you to come by at the perfect time…

Some people are able to free themselves from the jaws of the wolf and not let the darkness consume them,

Many were not as lucky…

Many died to the jaws of the wolf who got to take a bite of them,

Many got free from the jaws of the wolf but let the darkness consume them,

Many didn’t let the darkness consume them,

But it still tries…

Every day…

The darkness tries to consume me everyday ever since then…

Some days it will leave me be,

Let me frolic alone in peace.

But other days it feels like an entire pack of eyes is watching me…

Waiting for me…

They know what they did,

And they know what they’re doing.

And they don’t regret it.

All I can do as prey is hope and pray that I am not the prey they chose to hunt tonight,

Stay in my den where I am safe,

safe from it all.

Safe from the wolves,

Safe from the darkness…

The sun will rise eventually…

[radiothepoet]

Heart.

The heart is a delicate thing.

It is strong,

Yet it is also very sensitive.

The love that resides within it knows no bounds.

Anyone is capable of loving just about anything.

It’s interesting really…

Everyone has a heart,

and it has the capabilities of love.

And yet some people do not love,

Only hate.

Some people’s hearts are like moldy food,

Rotten, and bitter.

Soon it will spread to the others around them.

Others have a heart of gold…

Shiny,

Beautiful,

Lovely,

And is something anyone could ever want.

But what about yours?

Does your heart hate?

Does your heart hurt?

Does your heart love?

Does your heart shine like gold?

I’d hope so.

For a man without a heart to feel love with is a dead man,

Even if his body isn’t in the ground just yet.

You my dear, have a heart unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

Your heart is one of gold,

It loves and cares for others just as you do,

But it has dents in it…

Bruised spots that once shined pristinely.

No matter, I will love it all anyways.

Your heart warms the hearts of others,

Your love could make a shattered old heart whole again.

I know yours sure did for me,

It’s amazing isn’t it?

What a heart can do?

What you’ll do if your heart really puts you up to the task.

Love is a beautiful thing,

Some hearts are full of it,

Others are running on empty,

And some are already dead.

A man with no love in his heart is already a dead man,

What is the point of life if not to love?

Whether it be a person, pet, nature, or a thing?

Your heart is full of it my dear,

Your heart is full of love for so many things and people,

Never lose that.

My heart has been broken,

Beaten,

Bruised,

And shattered,

I almost became a deadman.

But you helped me,

Helped me realize that good was still in the world,

And through you I learned to love again, and to have a little more trust and faith in the world.

Love is what makes the world go around,

Love is what fuels our passions and inspirations,

Love is what keeps us together as humans,

Love should never be outlawed, disciplined, or diminished.

Love is what makes life exciting and so enjoyable.

And because of that, I will always keep love in my heart.

I will never become that deadman who cannot love and steals that love from others,

because sometimes love is all anyone truly needs to keep them from falling into the graveyard of deadmen.

[radiothepoet]

The fear of love

Out of all the things you chose to fear, It was love.

The more years that go on,

people will find a new way to hate us.

New ways to hurt us,

New ways to kill us.

Gay, lesbian, Queer, Transgender,

They’re labels of human beings.

REAL human beings.

Human beings with feelings, a life, and love. So much love…

Love to give,

Love to receive,

And love to share with those we hold close and dear to each other.

But instead of people looking at us like the loving, and living beings that we are, we are looked at through a lens…

A very narrow, and painted lens…

A lens that is often political,

A lens that is fogged with bigotry,

A lens that, if the wrong person were to look through it without clearing the fog of bigotry and lies, could lead to our deaths.

So what if I love another man as a man?

So what if I love another woman as a woman?

So what if I am not the gender I was assigned at birth?

Why do you care so much?

Why do you care whether I love differently than you?

Express my gender differently than you?

How does it effect you?

How does it hurt you?

You say you’re uncomfortable, and that is why you hate me.

But being uncomfortable would never justify the horrific crimes that you commit against people like me.

Bullying, harassment, murder, rape,

it’s happened a million times over all across the globe the queer and transgender people of this earth.

We are kicked out,

Forced into conversation therapy,

Beaten, abused, and raped,

Murdered even,

Outlawed because the government meant to protect us thinks that we’re are a disgusting and immoral sin,

That we are the scum of the scum of the earth,

All because of something we cannot control.

I cannot control what my gender is,

I cannot control what gender I love,

And it is horrifying the things you do to us believing that we can.

The earth is beautiful,

The people in it are beautiful as well,

No matter the color of their skin,

No matter who they love,

No matter what their gender is,

We are natural and beautiful beings on a natural and beautiful planet, all of us worthy of love and safety and peace.

I just wish that everybody could see that.

But out of all the things you chose to fear…

It was love.

The love that saves lives,

The love of human beings who’s only wish is to live in peace and safety,

But can’t,

Because of people like you.

And I hope that one day…

You will see how much damage you’ve caused, and how much blood is truly on your hands.

Because we shouldn’t fear love,

The beautiful, pure, and natural love that flows through all of us.

What we should fear is the the people who try and silence us,

Eradicate us,

Erase our love,

Our entire existence,

From the history of humanity.

We have always been around, and we always will be.

Love is love,

Whether you like it or not.

Your fear of love will not prevail.

[radiothepoet]

The TV doesn’t turn off

I saw the TV glow;

and when I did,

I knew that I just had to except it.

I could try to turn it off,

but there was no button for me to do so.

I could’ve shattered the screen into pieces,

And it would still be glowing.

The TV glows no matter what you try to do.

You could try and turn it off,

But you can’t.

You could cover it with a sheet,

Shatter the glass of the screen,

Set it on fire.

But the TV will always glow.

No matter what,

It will always glow.

Even if sometimes I don’t want to belive that it is…

[radiothepoet]

My love.

My love.

You are the sunshine,

The moonlight,

The light,

And the dark.

My love.

You complete me,

Make me whole in ways I never thought possible.

You are the other half to my heart that I never knew was missing.

To love you is to pick a rose.

Beautiful with soft pedals,

But if I am not careful,

I might get pricked by your thorns.

But I do not care for your thorns,

I love you. Sharp spots and all.

I will love you no matter how many times you may prick me,

Your thorns are just another natural part of you.

And I am willing to except, and love it all.

To you my love, I give a bouquet of roses.

Fresh from the garden.

I come to you on my knee,

And with blood on my fingers,

And thorn filled hands,

But it is all for you.

If it brings a smile to your face,

I am willing to go through the pain of getting whatever may bring you joy.

For this life is a dark time my love,

It is only right that I bring you even just a sliver of light.

You are a person deserving of love and light,

Happiness,

And more.

I give you roses,

Chocolates,

Jewelry,

And poems.

But I wish to give you more.

So much more.

Because it is what you deserve.

You deserve so much more than what I could ever give you in this life time,

But every time you smile at my gifts…

Every time you tell me that you love me…

Every time you show me how much you care…

It makes everything worth it.

The work,

The effort,

The pain,

All of it is worth the struggle if it means that you get to experience happiness for one more day.

My love,

You are the sunlight.

You are the moonlight.

The light in the dark.

I did it all for love,

I did it all for you, my love.

And with bloody,

tired,

rough,

thorn pricked hands,

I say only five words to you:

I love you, my love.

[radiothepoet]

Hatred

My hatred for you knows no bounds.

What you have done to me,

What you have put me through,

It is all unable to be forgiven.

Spare me your sorry cries,

You are the one who broke ME!

You say that I can not do anything…

But with a flick of my pen,

I can make people hate you for generations to come…

And even after you die,

Your name will be remembered.

But you will not be remembered as an angel, or some pinnacle of light.

But no…

That would be a lie.

That would mercy…

Mercy that you do not deserve…

I could write about the good times,

But I will not do that…

You will be remembered as the monster;

The one who took away happiness,

And lives.

The one who crushed the dreams and aspirations,

Especially mine.

Your sword may have killed me directly on the inside,

But I have a pen.

And I have paper.

And with that pen and paper will come your downfall,

With that pen and paper will come the demise of you that should have come sooner.

My hatred for you knows no bounds.

So I hope that for now,

you are at least feeling remorse for what you have done.

To me,

And to anyone else that has had the displeasure of meeting you.

With this pen and paper of mine,

I wield an unbreakable sword.

A sword that will kill you even long after you die.

You dared to hurt a writer.

A poet.

The one with the unbreakable sword.

And now,

you must pay the consequences.

[radiothepoet]

To be loved by a writer

To be loved by a writer,

Is to be loved like no other.

To be loved by poet,

Is to be loved by no other.

Every page they open,

they think of you,

and they of the things that they could write for you.

All of it, just to express their love.

All of it, just to show how much they care.

Every late night thinking about you makes them open up to a page where they pour their heart out for the next 40 minuetes,

Line after line.

Stanza after stanza.

All of it is for you.

Their poems are passionate,

Loving,

Sickeningly sweet,

And written devistatingly well.

Every day,

Every holiday,

A new poem,

A new declaration of their love,

End up in your hands.

It is precious writing,

Writing that was made with love,

Passion,

And the energy that only a writer and a poet could possess.

And on the day that you break their heart…

Shatter it into many pieces…

And they finally leave you…

You will be left with the remanent of a love once strong and full.

The novels of words written in your honor that used to bring so much warmth, now bring only sorrow and emptiness.

Line by line.

Stanza by stanza.

Each one you read over,

You cannot feel anything anymore,

You cannot feel anything anymore than the sorrow and emptiness of the words that used to be full of love and light.

Words that used to be ment for you now mean nothing in regards to you.

You do not deserve a writer.

You do not deserve a poet.

Because one day things will end,

And the recorded words of their devotion will only be thrown away.

Trashed, scrapped as if they meant nothing.

To be loved by a writer,

Is to be loved like no other.

To be loved by a poet,

Is to be loved like no other.

[theradioactivemess]

Loyalties - A poem about the current state of America and it various issues.

Where do your loyalties lie?

At the end of the day,

When all is said and done,

Where do your loyalties lie?

What are your morals?

Whose side are you on?

Is it the oppressors,

or the oppressed?

Is it within your morality to save the oppressed?

Or will you stand by…

Watching them die,

While you sit in blissful ignorance.

What is stopping you?

Is it ignorance?

The people around you?

You say that you don’t do politics,

That it is not important.

That it does not apply to you.

That you will not be affected…

Man to woman,

Black to white,

Gay to straight,

Cisgender to transgender,

Democrat to republican,

The regime is after all of us.

They will not stop until

everyone that opposes

them is dead and gone.

Where do your loyalties lie?

Is it with the rich, or the poor?

The facists, or the people?

The oppressors, or the oppressed?

Is it within your morality

to feed the hungry,

house the homeless,

able or disabled,

or does that not make you

any profit?

Does it not make you

any money?

Why should that matter?

You say you care about these people,

So why won’t you help them?

You have the money to do so,

So why won’t you do anything

to help these oppressed groups,

and aid the revolution

against this facist theocracy?

I ask you again—

Where do your loyalties lie?

What are your morals?

Will you assist in healing Mother Earth,

Or will you watch her burn?

Will you save her,

Or will you watch her

burn into ashes

While you watch in your pent house

drinking $500 wine

And eating caviar

without a care in the world?

Rich facist business men,

You are safe in your bubble of wealth.

But that bubble will be popped

very soon.

The poor and the oppressed

will rise together in unison

to bring you down

once and for all.

People deserve a home,

Food,

Healthcare,

And an education.

You claim to agree,

You say you want to make a change,

but I do not see it.

Greedy business man,

I know who you are.

I know what you do.

As you sit in your fancy mansions

and count money,

Tell me…

Where do your loyalties lie?

Are you with the people?

Or are you a greedy,

Selfish,

Bigoted,

facist,

Stupid pig,

Who would rather but his 10th yacht,

then let a kid have food and a home?

Of course you not.

You do not care for the people.

Your morality is corrupt,

Your loyalty lies within

the bubble of wealth and privilege

that keeps you safe from consequences.