Your House, My Home (A poem about eviction) | The Professional Protester on Patreon

Official Post from The Professional Protester : Your house is my home, Mr. and Mrs. Landlord.You have the deed,but I have the memories.It might be your property, but it is my life.The living room that you want to sell,That is where I saw our children play,Where I did puzzles with grandma,Where my siblings and I playedContinue reading “Your House, My Home (A poem about eviction) | The Professional Protester on Patreon”

Why Do We Take The Joker Out of The Deck? (Poem)

Why do we take the joker out of the deck? The comedian knows more than the journalist, and the Jester was the king’s adviser. It is easy to keep your distance if we laugh at the messenger instead of killing them. Why do we take the joker out of the deck? Does the dealer fearContinue reading “Why Do We Take The Joker Out of The Deck? (Poem)”

Behind Closed Doors, A Poem

More goes on behind closed doors Than you shall ever know. Yes, corruption and malfeasance But that is not what I mean. Behind closed doors, An abused partner cries. Behind closed doors A child’s dream is denied, Because Mommy got fired. Behind closed doors A young man cleans up his Grandmother’s urine Just like sheContinue reading “Behind Closed Doors, A Poem”

Hundreds of lives a year

Hundreds of lives a year, No rest for the wicked they say. But what is so wicked about selling something to feed a baby? When you have nothing to sell but flesh or a high, Is that really your fault? Hundreds of lives a year, Thousands rotting in the cold Or drowning in the rain.Continue reading “Hundreds of lives a year”

Hundreds of lives a year

Hundreds of lives a year, No rest for the wicked they say. But what is so wicked about selling something to feed a baby? When you have nothing to sell but flesh or a high, Is that really your fault? Hundreds of lives a year, Thousands rotting in the cold Or drowning in the rain.Continue reading “Hundreds of lives a year”

This Screen

There is something less romantic About the way you read my poems. You hold not the paper I scribbled my soul on But a screen. I write these words on a screen and send it to yours. This screen. These screens connect us, So why do are we so alone? Why is isolation the firsContinue reading “This Screen”

Rambling Depression For Holiday Conversation

What goes up must come down Especially egos. Check the ego, kill the ego. This is what buddha taught. Or is this more gibberish from a mad mind? Is it the lies we tell ourselves that make our opinions? “Don’t talk politics this holiday.” Is the credo of the people Who don’t want you toContinue reading “Rambling Depression For Holiday Conversation”