Excuse Me While I Puke

I hear screams of virgins looking at

Their innocence being tortured.

I see flowers hiding in the shadow

covering their eyes with shame.

I smell the putrid odors, fuming from the

stench of bush meat eating scavengers.

Forcing intimacy on cherubs and angels.

I see abused women and children,

giving up and dying

because no one is looking for them.

I saw the 1st lady of indifference

at the mall, caressing a

Gucci collar for her little poodle dog.

I heard that birds still singing,

and flowers still were budding

Right now, cannot enjoy

their contrite delight.

My eyes are filled with blood.

Is there anymore;

Bizarreness to ignore as I puke.?

EVERYBODY CAN’T BE WRONG

VICKI ACQUAH·MONDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 20171 Read

Everybody Can’t Be Wrong

"Everybody can’t be wrong" Huh; which is it...? I mean “they say” I mean to say, " don’t follow the crowd" Well "everyone else is doing it". Then tell me why Which is it? Think for me Or follow the majority; Give away your authority.? The masses have been wrong before Evidently, everyone was wrong again They crucified some man that was supposed to be God sent. They beat a 14-year-old, who was innocent. Emmitt Till was tortured until half dead; Then set him ablaze. They knew, this newly selected/elected; Was “coocoo for coco puffs” Lewd and rude with multi millions: Was somehow, people fooling; Yet appealing, and the masses Gave him a go in hard pass, do whatever you want: But, remember you promised us; Mr. precedence! Keep your promise; Make America Great Again.

You know like, back before blacks could become president! Great again like back when overseers could take credit for everything invented by blacks. You know - could purge em’, exploit, and control um. kill-um and rape um at will… You Know –Back then when they could take our land, say “scram off this land”. ” See you later”;

Feed their young’uns to the Gators and mek um stand up on the bus, even if there was an empty seat next to one of us… You know, back when “America was Great” When poor whites who had been convinced; Would then convince poor coloreds, and the Indians to find Jesus too.

Don’t care much for opinions, because truth depends on whose eyes describe the visualizations. Not seeing the realization. Back, when Dirt poor, meant hillbilly's, and dirt farmers got rations. Taking America Backwards, As he; “Takes America Back” Back, to the dark days of the America, of Trailer Parks, and punch drunk moms; Drunk, and abused by white husbands, Bred from frustrated chimney sweepers, with new legacies in coal mines.

Barefoot mothers, treated poorly, now blamed for being poor, and called whores. Take America back to the times, when “perverts slept with their own Girl-child”, The Family bed; Or Back when, your only true friends looked black;

But, you couldn’t have an open relationship. Had to sneak and eat, at your colored friend’s clean shack, Where you could least get “hugs, and clean sheets”. After all; “they couldn’t all be wrong” When they said: ”At Least, I aren’t no nigger”.

Now this Infantile man in his seventies, decides that in 2017 he wants to take America back - bassackwards, A lunatic, whom they knew to be “coo-coo for coco- puffs” was hair triggered and, did things “Bassackwards”! The voters also knew that he was Lewd and rude, though he was crude, his multi—millions, was appealing, to the masses. So, the gave him a go in hard pass, “do whatever you want” Yet don’t forget; To remember well your promises.! Mr. President: You are setting precedence; “Make America Great Again”. Like it was back when.?

Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2017

Indie Author: ISBNs Don't Matter As Much As You Probably Think They Do, But You Might Want To Start Owning Your Own Anyway

Indie Author: ISBNs Don't Matter As Much As You Probably Think They Do, But You Might Want To Start Owning Your Own Anyway Yes this answered my question thanks

EXCUSE ME WHILE I PUKE

Excuse Me While I Puke

I hear screams of virgins looking at their innocence tortured. I see flowers hiding in The shadow covering their eyes with shame. I smell the putrid odors, fuming from the stench of bush meat eating scavengers. Forcing intimacy on cherubs and angels. I see abused women and children, giving up and dying because no one is looking for them.I saw the 1st lady of indifference at the mall caressing a Gucci collar for her lil poodle dog.I heard that birds still sing and flowers still bud -Right now cannot enjoy their contrite delight. My eyes are filled with blood. Is there anymore-Bizarreness TO Ignore AS I puke.

Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2017

Saturday Or Not

SATURDAY OR NOT

Shadows on walls falling from the setting sun;

Leaving behind dreams, of which I was the star.

Who's going to finish this dream:

Who can complete this dream?

this dream that captured my soul,

when you left out I waited,

I waited .... but you never returned.

Who's going to continue to love me?

Who will tell them, those lies were untrue?

who will kiss me in the morning,

now that I Don't have you?

Shadows on walls talk to me,

when the sun is rising, whispering...

ever so gently that soon It will be all right.

I am exhausted from forced smiling.

I stand alone devoid of pain;  

And pain would feel so right.

We never even had a chance,

to have a lover’s fight.

Your dream was never to be dreamt

again, that's the dream I am in.

Who will finish holding me;

Who will say goodnight.?

What happens to the love we shared

when love has been forgot...

one more day until Sunday,

"Saturday or not"!

The dream has ended abruptly:

The dramas now unfolding.

My Lovers gone...and only the

shadow knows the secrets he was holding.

I stand alone devoid of pain,

and pain would feel so right...

Seven days we were married

before they tore my love away.

The white dress on the back of the door.

Tomorrow, means nothing anymore.

Even though the next would have been Sunday,

I want no more tomorrows.

I don't even want today!

I only wanted finish dreams.

And to feed you from my loving pot:

To live our dreams, our lives, accordingly.

"Saturday or not"...!

Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2017