fuck you

Leave Me Alone!!!!

Don't bother me;

don't talk to me;


do not disturb;

leave me alone!!!!!





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don't tolerate female facism



don't tolerate communist infililtration

into my mindspace



going to fight the parasitic infection



going to be a redblooded indian


Tomahawk chop;

redblooded fucking native american


Fuck the parasite!!!!!



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So many words,

so many fucks not given

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Fuck you* I'm still here.

Liked it didn't you?


Had it all wrapped up in your bag


went off on your merry little way.


got lost and now you've found your way 


standing up straight on your own two feet


found a drum to pound to your own beat 


you're so much happier now


well good for you!


I wipe the sarcasm dripping off my chin


It seems you've forgotten

a little something? 

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Fuck You

When I wrote
I wrote to be like and please
Trying to be at ease but
My peers said I was a loser
Family don’t care for the middle child
My teacher broke my dreams
My writings stood for me how I felt
But no one knew at the time where
My dreams, a cure for my depression
To ease the pain, and kept the suicidal thoughts
At bay, after years I’ve grown tired of the pain
Sick of the games, turned my back on my so-called
Friends I don’t need them fuck your friends
Because your friends are the ones that betray you in end
Distanced myself from my family I don’t knew them and
They didn’t know me them I didn’t want to be, teachers
Failing grades, bad intentions, lack of respect, disappointment
Finally I felt free, free of criticism, no more rules, boundaries
And censorship I can write whenever I want with no pressure
Bending the rules, words in my control so fuck the critics don’t
Give in to negativity, if someone tells you just tell them fuck off
If someone say poetry is stupid just fuck you, and if you don’t
Like my poetry and you some stupid fuckin comment, then fuck you
I’ve fought to hard and been through too much hell and high water
To accept and let people get in my way


Author's Notes/Comments: 

i was so angry
because i ran into an old (former friend) and we got to talking and my poetry writing came up
among some other things and some old bad blood was still present and ignited and we ended arguing and i don't think
where going to be talking again and its sad because i see that person quit often
so i tried to put anger into words into poetry but i failed miserably

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Pocket pool

Once, just once, I was in love
with yesterday and the way your mother
would dress in front of me.

My hardon secret and strapped
in pocket, lightly stroked
between forefinger and thumb.


Ray Strickland Jr.
2012 Nov.

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