death – Kevin Trent Boswell

I Know It’s Frustrating

I know you’re angry; I don’t blame you
It feels like American freedom is spent
But please try to remember that it’s illegal
To talk about killing the president

I know it’s hard watching these racists;
To a coward, sadist, false king, they bent
But it’s still a crime to make idle threats
About murdering the stupid president

I don’t ever want you to get locked up
So, don’t do something you’ll later lament
Don’t even jokingly say to someone
That you’re planning to kill the president

Seriously, don’t do it. No, really… don’t.

It Will Not Matter

It will not matter,
What you do or do not
For soon, swift death
Will sweep through the land
Scooping you up onto
The back of its white horse,
The reaper throttles you
With its cold, bony hand

Fire God

If they decide that you’re made of fire,
Pristine, glorious, and bright
Then they will insist that you burn
So that you may offer them light

If they believe that you are perfect,
And with you, they cannot compete,
They’ll make you a god, a dying one
To warm themselves by your heat

If you represent in their minds
Something they could never become,
They will set you ablaze in the night;
To the flames, watch you succumb

dead, bloated cow

and that sickly, ugly war
raged through the streets,
unhinged and unhappy,
all too costly and unaware
of the damage it deals

it blisters the skin and boils the blood,
ripping down foundations,
blasting apart buildings,
making vehicles cease to exist,
filling the air with a foul stench
of fear and anger

its reward? only carnage
and arrogant blustering,
nothing of validity or consequence;
nothing positive or loving or logical

only the bellowing roar of endless warring

a hotdog cart burning in the road,
and fat, half-dead cow by the river,
making horrible noises of pain,
as it hopelessly calls out for attention

and to think, how everything
could have been peaceful, happy, and quiet

but some will always find it absolutely
unacceptable to have anything other than
their way

Eighty Percent

Eighty percent of all suicides
Are committed by men
In case you weren’t listening,
I’ll say it again

Eighty percent of those who opted
Out of the plan of painful static
Were men, and I seriously doubt
That each one was a drunk or an addict

Labels help us dismiss the men
Who consciously choose not to live;
Toxic Masculinity, effeminate, weak;
Waved off as Liberal or Conservative

We’re expected to behave
As if we’re made of steel
But that’s fairy tale bullshit,
And it’s so far from real

Real men lose hope,
And they check out every day
They’re White, and they’re Black,
They’re straight, and they’re gay

They’re Latinos and Asians,
They’re Christians and Jews
College boys and farmers,
Overcome by the blues

And there was nobody there
Who knew what to say,
Who could (or would) help them
Make the pain go away

We choke on barrels or ropes,
Or we slit our wrists,
You call us narcissists, deadbeats,
And misogynists

If you say “All these men needed
“Was to have faith in God,”
Then your thinking is ignorant,
And dangerously flawed

Our bodies, ruined by painful,
Dangerous hard work,
But a broke or broken man
Is treated like a jerk

Women say, “Open up to me,
“Because I can help you grieve”
But when men share, women scare;
They get turned off and leave

A man carries on in silence for years,
Pain hidden by a noble stealth
But it rarely looks like the typical case
Of depression or poor mental health

More often than not, it’s a mystery
People scratch their heads and wonder,
“But he was so strong, I never knew.
I can’t believe he went under”

When a man can’t provide for his own,
No matter how he labors or tries,
Stumbling beneath an impossible weight,
He collapses from guilt, and he dies

The system dooms most men at birth,
Before we even get a chance to start
It favors the women who hurt us, and lie,
And rip our families apart

But the system wasn’t entirely built
By rich men, on the backs of the poor
There were also many greedy wives
Who yearned for more and more

Anyone who says women don’t lie
Or make up false allegations
Must have been hiding under a rock,
Not living in real situations

Of child support paternity tests,
30% are not the child’s real father
70% of divorces are initiated by women
So, why should a man even bother?

Many modern women think it’s cute,
Clever, and somehow funny,
To tear a man down by cheating on him,
Or using him for money

They say, “Men do it all the time!
“So, turnabout is fair play!”
But it’s not even close to being true
To say most men act that way

The word patriarchy is dropped
About a thousand times an hour
But most males have never known
Real money or true power

We’re told that “all men,” are abusers,
And how a bear could be escaped
But most men have never killed anyone,
Nor beaten a woman, or raped

Eighty percent of the suicide stats,
Men, in pain, and masking
But hey, everybody, we’re all fine,
So, thanks for never asking

Lean on me, brother, if you need to
You’re allowed to hurt and to cry
Soldiers should get furlough and rest,
But you don’t have permission to die

CDC suicide statistics by gender — From the CDC

unspeakable things

I may need someone to
bail me out of jail one day

a few rude words?
I ignore that nonsense

rise above that garbage
pseudo-alpha peacocking

I’ll laugh it off, or stare at you, blankly

but don’t put your hands on me or mine

I don’t know you, so I’ll assume
that you intend serious harm,
and that you’re capable of it

which means I won’t “phone it in”
or give unnecessary warnings

I’ll just break you, snap you in half
like a fresh string bean

I’m capable of far worse things than you,
on your best day, and my worst

I didn’t choose golf or video games
I chose martial arts, guns, and black magic

you are merely uncouth, and ill-tempered

I am polite, well-mannered, patient,
observant, and unapologetically evil

evil to the core