My World


United States
41° 39' 53.2188" N, 83° 44' 9.0636" W

My world is damaged, my world it bleeds,
It’s been infected, corrupted, and battered to a “tee”.
It cries, it begs, it screams out of pain,
And unless something changes, it will die in vain.

It is riddled with disease,
Of war, fear, hate, and greed,
It has given to all, all that we see,
And never once in turn has asked for a fee.

It’s sick with a bacteria,
7 billion to be more precise.
They spread over its area,
Like a fleet of lice.

Yet these bacteria can walk, think, and speak,
They have such resilient bodies but minds so weak.
They possess the knowledge of good and bad,
But prefer the negative, which is positively mad.

They lie, they cheat, they steal, and kill,
But when it happens to them, they bare ill will.
They kick and scream, bite and scratch,
And seem to enjoy stabbing each other and the world in the back.

And at the center of the chaos,
The most damaging disease of all,
The United States of America,
A country that will assuredly make the world fall.

The people are ignorant,
The politicians deceitful,
The scientists arrogant,
The religions resentful.

But why is this disease the biggest in town,
When all these things are present around,
Because the U.S. lies and deceives,
And fools its people to believe.

It proclaims to be free,
It proclaims to be the best,
But really you see,
It’s no better than the rest.

Its contempt and hate, fear and greed,
It pretends to give a shit about the people’s needs.
It hides its real intent, behind fanciful words,
And announces any who says different to be absurd.

But my problem is not with this virus alone,
It’s all the ones that span the globe,
They fuck up each other; they fuck up the planet,
And when brought into question for this, they become erratic.

But I don’t have time to bring all this to light,
Because I fear that the new insight,
Of everyone and every country’s fault,
Will end up making you bolt.

My world is the planet,
My world is the Earth,
My world needs protection,
From the children it has given birth.

Now I end this whole thing,
I end this stupid poem,
By saying we need to do a lot better,
Before we’re trapped in the web we’ve woven.


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