Posts Tagged ‘box’

piggie3

I’m the sneaky piggely

I always steal the capsicum

And when the big alpha piggelys come

I pretend to be retarded

 

I’m the sneaky piggely

I pretend to be normal but it never works

And when the big alpha piggleys come

I pretend to be dead

 

I’m the sneaky piggely

I steal the corn leaves and hide in a box

And none of you big alpha piggelys are going to stop me

‘Cos I pretend to be sad

 

I’m the sneaky piggely

I’m disabled and dysfunctional

Please love me alpha piggely

I wish I knew more tricks

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Macho_Man_Randy_Savage-276x251

To be a man you’re not supposed to say you’re sorry
Just try it one time with an audience of macho troglodytes and you’ll find out
They’ll look at you as weak, a wimp, a target for rage against their own stupidity
To deal with this situation, most people would advise to harden up- come on, be a man
Crush your feelings
Never cry
Dominate, dominate, dominate
In doing so do you become a monster
Just another testosterone crazed dildo-brain
Manning up ends up with beaten women and children
And men with no emotions save anger and hatred
Broken creatures trapped in a gender prison
Women are freeing themselves now from this kind of bullshit
When will men be free from protecting their fragile masculinity
When will little children cease to fear their father’s rage
When will there be no more abused women
When we can smash the man box

burrendah

Burrendah Primary School in the outer suburb of Willetton in Perth
New plants- short stubby bushes and asbestos clad buildings still in primary colours
Kids in maroon uniforms- swarms of little boys and girls

The little blonde boy stands alone in the withering wind in the undercover area
The Fremantle doctor has come in again
Pole straight he stares into the cold steel pylon, hiding behind it from the other children
Willing the school day to end

Oh infinite aching solitude
Oh twisted random mind
Churning full of white noise
No other children talk to him
Except the bully who pushes him over so he scrapes his knee on the bitumen

When he gets home he is happy
Immersed in the rich private world of his toys
His parents never know how he suffers
Like John of the Cross in a box