Being Real Is No Excuse For Being An Ill-mannered Pig Creature

You say “I’m real
and can’t stand fakes.
I say what I feel
and don’t care what it makes.

I speak my mind
and don’t suffer fools,
and I think you’ll find –
I make my own rules

Don’t care what you say,
I’m my own person.
Make my own way,
listen to no whoreson.”

I’m sorry but
you wither unbearable.
Your conversation’s a rut,
entirely unrepairable.

You mistake being real
for being ill-mannered.
Your actions reveal
a character of low standard.

Keeping it real,
and not taking shit,
is no excuse
for being civilly unfit.

You’re giving an excuse
for unnecessary rudeness.
Your reasoning’s loose
and seasoned with crudeness.

Try being polite
and not abrasive,
Who knows? You just might
be more persuasive.

To the ‘real’ this may be offensive,
possibly passive-aggressive.
So I beg if you pardon my zeal.
I’m afraid I’m just being real.

A Strange Kind Of Prime Minister

He steps forth nervous,
all eyes watching,
he hopes it’ll be worth it,
through the jeers and back slapping.

Room all a swirl,
the effects of Dom Perignon and soda.
Lights blur in pearl,
as he steadies nerves with vodka.

The older boy reclined in his throne,
strokes the pig’s head that calls his lap home.

He swallows his pride,
takes a step forward.
Undoes his fly,
turns his eyes wall-ward.

With a grunt of effort,
thrusts at the mouth.
Finds no comfort
as he hits the snout.

The room erupts.
The laughter is raucous.
As a voice interupts,
yelling “sir porkcus!”

This time takes aim,
meets piggy’s eye.
Swallows his shame
and takes another try.

He darts forth holding his member.
Telling himself “never surrender!”

Lands himself right between the lips.
Announced to the room with a shudder of the hips.

Tidying his trousers,
thinks all is private.
Should be wary that adders
will with vengeance reveal it.

When you fuck the poor
people will know it,
and when you turn scarlet,
will want more of it.

So David Cameron my old mucker,
this is why I laugh that you’re a pig fucker!

Henchmen Are People Too

He burns and mars,
and cuts, and murders.
Leaving men with scars,
homes without fathers.

The crowd whooping and cheering,
on their feet punch the air,
as the hero beats henchmen
– a species now quite rare.

He stalks and prowls,
now growing closer,
snarls and growls,
eyes growing bolder.

Bursts into the room,
door blown asunder.
Villain senses doom,
Punches hit like thunder

Villain left alive,
A hero so righteous.
Seems a henchman’s life
– doesn’t matter the slightest.