Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋

The Bone (declassified) Fight the Might with Write?

To the lying sacks of shit and those who would espouse their propaganda as justifiable rhetoric to enslave the good with guilt and shame — recompense for erring or not buying into the manipulative philosophies:

The one thing that is true
When I get hold of the bone
I'll chew it
Hard
Until all the flavor has left
Or
Until another leg of something
Is tossed
I'm not too tired for treats
But I'm not a dog
And I know it
So
I'm very selective
I've cultivated a taste
For these castoffs
In fact
I know the remainders
Are not what you require
Are easily given
To curs like me
Draw me off the scent

You called me bad dog
Once to my face
You called me 'dog'
You make me sleep outside
Not in your warm
Cuddly house
But
Pet my head
When I'm obedient
Yet
Seldom send me
Chasing after a stick
When I learned
Fetch was your game
To distract me
And
What have you got
For all the years
Of misdirecting me?

First, I'm not a mutt
Or somebody's pooch
You dehumanizing piece of shit
Who marginalizes and segregates
Beautiful people from
Your redeemed
I will say
You're not an ethnic cleanser
Yet I stand about the bones
Of the black and gray deceased
Who silent suffered waiting
For a bone
That did not arrive.

From the Unwritten Memoir: Allegorical Stories and Poems of A Naked Man (Already written but unassembled--every day of my life)

I am sooooo Britta right now. Yeah, I get it means nothing. But, it could...mean...something--