Fuck Mainstream America

Poem Info
375 words
0
3.2k
00
Poem does not have any tags
Share this Poem

Font Size

Default Font Size

Font Spacing

Default Font Spacing

Font Face

Default Font Face

Reading Theme

Default Theme (White)
You need to Log In or Sign Up to have your customization saved in your Literotica profile.
PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here

I'm sick,
soul-sick,
tired,
"cold and bony tired;" REM
my mind is full of scorpions
and it seems like no one can minister to this mind diseased;
I don't feel right
walking on the street,
drinking coffee by the mind-stunting TV,
or often even reading
or in my dreams.
But fuck it,
"fuck it," I say,
I'm not gonna break,
and I aint' going away;
I'm not for sale
and I ain't gonna pray;
Today's God is the FBI
and those who spread aristocratic lies
(dressed up with rosaries
or vapid portraits of Christ)
and soon they'll pass away
victims to a revolution that doesn't need my sway.
I'm just putting literary on the cake
and I do it gladly
because I'm full of hate
for all who long to be a higher caste
and all the Americans who greedily buy
the house-on-the-hill neo fascist lie.
People who live in trailers
support politicians controlled by country club men,
and people who live in huts
and ransack shacks support all of them;
and I grew up amid it all,
thinking the news meant something real,
hearing the MTV, rock'n roll call,
thinking it was more than veneer
and it isn't:
it isn't, you hear?
It's all a fucking game:
Fifty-Cent, Jay-Z, and that Idol "Clay"
are all the same:
a bunch of lame mouth-pieces
the second selling out his very race
with that "gangsta" uncle tom smile on his face.
I've done more artistically
than a billion dollar's worth of them,
and I'm not even free
to walk the streets and do my thing;
I've gotta watch out for thugs
inspired by the lasted B action flick,
and for American cops
who are wired like gestapo pigs:
I see through your "bourgeious" words and wigs:
the centuries changed but it's all the same,
and we've got one last chance:
trust me it ain't no game
and then this globle'll flame up and do one last dance:
consuming the Taliban and the CIA,
the Kremlin and those who to Buddha pray,
killing every Reagan voting,
preacher worshipping, gun-toting American:
Well, at least it's not all bad:
you hear me, there's a message with this rant:
Don't try to walk on imperialist water;
!!!I guarantee you can't!!!

Please rate this poem
The author would appreciate your feedback.
  • COMMENTS
Anonymous
Our Comments Policy is available in the Lit FAQ
Post as:
Anonymous
Share this Poem