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Worthless Human Being

Little puppies with bigger chains
Caring owners with vacant brains
Most of you buy them to get attention
If it was school, you would probably deserve detention
Some of them are bought and some are not 
But abducted are both from their mother and few other
Born not
But brought up in homes
Of human parents who take these puppies on roams
Spending on their collars, harness and toys
Spending on their food and even more toys
But few of these parents leave the puppy locked
In a room when they are on other work
Cry,cry, does the puppy alone 
Shiver a many runs down its bone
And when returns the parent the puppy is ecstatic
But do you dear ones ever think of the sorrow and the plastic
Make up that you wear trying to look nice
I would say these are beings not tags of price
But I am not a vegetarian, I love them crunchy meat
Yet I speak of dogs and their sorrow?
Prejudiced am I? Maybe I am
I do not flinch an eye when the chicken goes bam
And dies to serve its purpose as my meat
Oh shit I'm so sadist, but does a lion take a seat
And simply watch deers roam about in joy
Or does it, when it's hungry, go forth and kill
A dear or two to have a good meal.
But least the lion do not keep it in chains
Rid the deer of its freedom while it breathes on and has a functioning brain
I write this as I know so much 
Like I know things like sorrow and such
But shit I never even saw a lion in person
Hunting a deer, I'm simply a person
Imagining silly things 
I am merely but a worthless human being.

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Humble Little Me Humble little me wished to climb that tree The one with many branches. It stood tall by a certain plain clad in beautiful flowers Each branch split in many others And they themselves in many more I have perhaps climbed a little few or a few more. Humble little me always wondered How vast the tree it was! How many branches does it truly have? Humble little me could never take count. Maybe no one does know truly If it is 10 or maybe a hundred more. Humble little me as my mother always told me, Is a monkey and that is fine with me. Good climbers they are,monkeys, I always told mum. Art is my banana tree And I always enjoyed being bad, and free.
LESSON Lost in little fantasies  I walk. Through a meadow of green   by the little red folk. Hello? She says,  the red go different ways. Are you lost child? Concentrate on the lesson, she speaks, in a tone not quite mild. I wind back within the classroom walls  the red, they warn, here come the trolls. Pretend i must, lesson learnt or not  refuse i may not,once i fought. My father,he was called,  he was always enthralled Of the little humble drawings I made  in the classroom walls,my sketches,they fade For I cannot draw  lesson I must learn Listen I must  Lesson learnt or not.