The unforgiving wrinkles of my skin delivering lines of poetry against an unwilling story weathered by the storms that have no end, of judgment despite one bad decision turns into a mountain of rubbish, disguised as gold; my goal turned into self-pity with a form of medication that steals my teeth and rotted my face but life is now a haze of a bearable state;

The first deep dove into the deep recess of my mind, heart and soul...

In light of recent discussions surrounding the assassination attempt of Donald Trump and the unfounded claims suggesting it was staged, it is crucial to approach such assertions with skepticism and rationality. Conspiracy type of theories undermine and can damage the integrity of our society and also have the potential to cause division and mistrust within society.

In grandiose halls, where echoes lie, Nigerian leaders raise their cry, Promises woven in silken thread, While the masses beg for daily bread. Their coffers swell with ill-gained gold, Their hearts grow numb, their gaze turns cold, To children’s tears and mothers’ sighs, They offer naught but hollow lies. In lands afar, where justice reigns, Leaders heed the people's pains, With empathy, they steer the helm, Striving to uplift their realm. Yet here, where hope seems but a dream, The powerful scoff at each regime, Their castles rise, their power grows, While the masses' suffering only shows. Beneath the sun's relentless glare, The poor bear burdens, none to spare, Their cries for help meet deafened ears, Their future clouded by their fears.

As we navigate through a pivotal moment in American history, the upcoming presidential election has brought about a wave of emotions and opinions. With President Trump seeking re-election and former Vice President Joe Biden as his opponent, the choice for the next leader of the United States has never been more crucial. In this heartfelt discussion, we delve into why President Trump stands out over Biden as the better candidate for the presidency.

Their only goal...to take hold of her body

This is interesting too

I was reading this and it was very interesting

The invisible force around us , people live in a world where a lot of us are distracted .. our leaders in America are walking us to the end of the world as we know it.. people can not be religious but believe it or not we're in the beginning stages of the world war three.. the invisible force is demonic and our leaders pray to the dark forces ... I open this blog for free thinkers I love America I am worried about where we are headed .. I just want free thinkers in this blog I open the floor to thoughts of what I said

I am a former foster care kid and I’m sharing mine and other’s experiences when it comes to the corruption that runs rampant in our broken systems. These are our stories

She threw her head back and laughed, loud and deep within her throat. The Congressman rushed toward her, skirting to the left side of the mattress, grabbing a fist full of her shiny, blond tress. He pushed her head down, twisting her spine into an uncomfortable question mark. Still she laughed, hardly ceasing to draw a new breath to freshen her guffaw. He drew his right arm high above his head, soft hand open and ready for contact with her cackling mouth. "Shut up, WHORE!" he threatened and still she laughed, unimpressed by his rage.

In the latest presidential debate, candidates clashed on a range of critical issues, from economic policies and healthcare to foreign relations and climate change.

Rejection of the poor leadership.Viva young generatiob

Why the Black Suits Propagate Hate ***DISCLAIMER*** There are mentions of heinous acts such as r*pe and mu*der. ***READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION***

About the isolation of children in our times.

I am the Burmese python. I am the p a l m t r e e s of Los Angeles the cattle of Texas the mudpuppies of Maine. I am disruptive, I interrupt the flow of the natural world. I am bad. I am wrong. I do not belong. I am the stray red stripe on a blue painting; the little dot of cookie dough on the outskirts of the cinnamon raison masterpiece. I am the accidental drop of milk on the ground; the girl in the black at an all-white party. I am the clouds on a sunny day; the empty patch of grass in the forest; the island in a sea of water. But sometimes I am not any of that. Sometimes I am the paint between the l i n e s … … the drop of water that makes it right in the cup. Sometimes, I am, in fact, not disruptive or bad or wrong at all. Sometimes, I fit in. Sometimes, I am good and correct and a part of. Sometimes, I belong.

That “homeless chic” aesthetic that has come to define the typical festival-goer — the ripped jeans, the cropped tanks, the ratty sneakers – lays an awfully thin veil over the thousands of dollars clearly spent on an outfit that instantly precludes all of these people from having experienced any degree of homelessness or financial insecurity in the first place. But year after year, the majority of Coachella attendees work tirelessly for that look. Much like the hunt for urban authenticity, the fact is that the more people strive for the same brand of “unique” — that elusive, “I-spent-one-thousand-dollars-to-look-like-I’m-broke” aesthetic, the more we drown in an “overbearing sameness, not too different… from the ‘great blight of dullness’ that [Jane] Jacobs despised.

A zombie gains a brain.

Zombie wishes to rule zombies for their greater good.

A short story based on an old gavel I found in an antique store.