Best Percentile Poems
I.
They say women don’t need men anymore,
that they can have it all on their own,
feminism claims it is the future,
and that it’s contingent on me to know
that everything’s just a social construct,
there’s no difference that we cannot change,
and they go and destroy any scientist
who has the sense and courage to explain
that millions of years of evolution
imprints on all of our genetic lines,
the differences are not just skin deep,
they leave a large impact on our minds.
Even here amidst the great western world,
where there is much legal equality,
you would think we’d see a half-and-half,
but it doesn’t break that evenly.
Women rule in social science and nursing,
men dominate construction and war,
even with money for the girls in the STEM
and endless rants or manhood deplored.
And should a woman become the rare one,
strong enough to make it into combat,
she’ll be in the bottom percentile,
unable to match men’s muscle mass.
But we’re afraid to point out the difference,
though it’s been know for millions of years,
we’ve naturals strength bound to our sex,
and this now seems a fact to be feared?
But what happens to the naïve young woman
basing the whole of their future upon
a career where nature’s stacked the deck?
What will happen if we’ve got it wrong?
During childhood
It was all about imagination,
As in opening a window
For a fun, medieval war with full set of armor and a sword
And fighting the foes who comes to fight.
I'd always made it unfair
For my enemies;
Seventy-four to forty-seven
And scoring a victory for my land.
As each war was fought, many men were defeated and killed
But with the stakes of losing my country and throne,
Losing or surrendering was not an option.
But a new enemy came, stronger than any other foe I fought,
And his name was Evil Ken,
A dark figure, with the same body tone as mine,
His eyes were bright red,
Both hands were sharp as kitchen knives,
And his energy was pure darkness.
Not only Evil Ken came,
He put his contagious plaque
Over my countrymen;
One claw from his hands
Feels like a painful parade
Full of little ants
Crawling into your skin.
I'd thought in my mind
That my soldiers can be healed
And fight by my side,
But it was too late.
The meadows of my imagination
Became little voices,
Similar voices of fallen men whom I killed,
And my muscles in my right wrist,
Which had the power of democracy,
Became the voices' weapon
Of mass destruction
And turning it against me.
The percentile of me winning this war was 3:1,
Favoring Evil Ken
And fear came through me
Like a man was getting executed by be-headed.
I feared that I will be next on the chopping block
Of iron and steel.
So for this "Never-ending war"
Between Evil Ken and his plaque
Against me
Multiple names were firing at me,
Like ***** and a juvenile delinquent,
But an unfamiliar voice came by my side,
Like an angel from the sky flew down,
And gave me evidence
On how to defeat Him and his plaque.
This evidence was
Leadership, motivator, and a
Survivor.
The war ended with his plaque
And Evil Ken was finally disperse.
I may have won this war,
But more will come in time
And more men will be defeated.
******************************P************************
Paranormal peasants of a pathetic and patient percentile
perpetrate peace from perjury..
A patriarch, parallel to a peaceful partisan passage..
******************************M************************
Meditation maliciously masks my mighty monogamous minx.
Modestly managing my machismo, mastering my maturity.
Jared Pickett
4/06/2010
Asavvy1
Mistaken by the view in front of your eyes
Like poison the itch on your skin to rise
making it hard for you to see
misunderstanding thee percentile rate
undermining your psychotic state
your messages and signals have been foul play
not the same as yesterdays child play
never judging your perspective
of what the truth should be
grasping the fact of what the human mind
expects the lies to be
letting time fly away from thee
Final Tribute
(for the Last Caesar)
Give the annual percentile amount
of your iron-copper gathering
The yearly brow liquidity
is required by the silver arm of vexation
Hemoglobin promissory is handed
to the seated image stamped on the penny
Spinal rein acquiescence,
bent will to the usury yield is mandatory
Because the last Caesar said make it so
The coins are jingo collected,
earmarked primarily for a military preference
Give ad infinitum;
blood, sweat and tears
is the required sum
Profess fiscal fealty to the feudal lord
of a monetary divided land
Take a sharecropper stand,
a servile oath of stained cloth submission
What is the scarlet vow protection condition?
Pay the final tribute
with the parting of your farthing soul
Give with mint-scented breath,
(a legion air of pleb compliance)
the placid portion of patriotic cuckold
Pocket pawns ask only for golden liberty,
to debt pursue life, love and happiness
With deep tributary lender lament,
the last Caesar said belay that request
09-14-21
Always nice to be away
From people like you
Who are stressing me apart,
Don’t you think so?
Whatever,
Just in time.
I was thinking deeply about
All that happened in my life,
Since I met you, I will never forgive,
It hurts too much,
Hope this party will remove such thoughts.
Have a great time,
Comments and feelings reserved,
Showering me with your weekend lies,
Coz you are fading away gracefully,
I know how to please myself.
This is the time when
We gotta take coffee
With a pinch of salt,
I love you percentile,
I don’t give a damn
What they are going;
I was driving when you beeped,
Talk to me before I walk
Into the cave.
A sleepover
Hooray
My sister and I
We pack light
a small bag each
It's been 3 days
I am out of fresh clothes
I miss my toys
Can I go back now?
Apparently sleepover
Does not mean what I thought
Ah, if only I brought more clothes
If only I got my books
If only I could keep what was mine
the new house is good
until I mess up
and then come the lines
I will not
I shall not
I will not
I shall not
My sisters afraid of bees
So why is it
she's outside
forced to stand in a patch of clover
Why?
Trampoline tickle fight
the older girls should have listened
I cried stop
they did not
And yet here I am on the porch
Wet bottom towards the world
begging for forgiveness?
"She" burst in while I was changing
"Get Out" i scream, like a respectable person
Except I forgot, 9 year old girls without parents
aren't respectable, or people
half an hour I sat, shirtless in front to the window
Ham and cheese
That's it
Every day for a summer
Ham. And. Cheese
eventually I hid the ham
and only ate the cheese
We are selected by a family
we will finally have a home
we tour the place, and it's amazing
tree house, dollhouse, multi acre yard
We'll give you a call said the "parents"
but they never did
ah, eggbert, oh speedy one
you are my only friend
all the other games
were always asking for player 2
but who needs a player 2?
Is it just me or are our dinners getting smaller?
Tomorrow marks the
first day of fourth grade
We head to the doctor
We get weighed
At 40 lbs, I am in the fifth percentile
That's a good score, right?
Todays the day
Finally
January 2009
Somebody sees me for who I am
In the coldest winter ever, I learned to b-more careful
I didn't want to be another statistic
by taking on the role of becoming unrealistically materiallistic
like when it means more to find that name brand jacket that everyone huslin has
instead of being able to score into the highest percentile bracket that those ivy
league not skool of hard knocks accepts
so i don't make myself another "concept"
i wanted to be the one that surpasses the honorable mention
not wins best dressed and mentioned to be dishornorable stuck in detention
i gotta be at the top of my game doin the magna cum loude thing
not spittin game to the next trying to spend they whole check for a damn diamond
ring
by me books so i can read my way out this hood
don't waste ya time trying to by me things that you think make me feel good
in the coldest winter ever i learned to be more careful
i had to distinguish the difference between
Tomorrow marks the
first day of fourth grade
We head to the doctor
We get weighed
At 40 lbs, I am in the fifth percentile
that's a good score, right?
My sad life poems have been compiled into a larger series
The sad life series is followed by
Healing and hardships
The OK times
Splintering
Return
School
School and covid
And finally into 2023
Today I shined very bright.
I added the fuel to ignite.
I gave it my all and hoped for the best.
I went in and faced the test.
Sitting there waiting, my pits sweating.
The quiet, lifeless room was offsetting.
Time taking so long I might grow thin.
Just waiting for the teacher to say begin.
She speaks and I dig in and give it my best shot.
I might not be the best but a quitter I am not.
Almost five hours later were done, I can barely see.
Minutes go bye, we get our score, could this be?
The teacher nods as she walks down the aisle.
1530 out of 1600, I'm in the 96th percentile!
Above the clouds today is where I flew.
Because today, I achieved a dream come true.
She had aspirations wanting to belong
Hung out in swanky clubs
With the creme de la creme
That percentile with pure blue blood
Attended all the soirees
She dressed the part
Loved to strut her stuff
Never turning down a challenge
She blew till she was blue
A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do
AP: 3rd place 2025
I wonder into how many mirrors I will glance on my to hell.
This vain and vile image.
We made him together.
Their expectations and my vanity.
Their agitation and my insecurity.
This peripheral paranoia, checked only by the silent staring into an image.
I wish he would show himself, that coward.
He uses flattery and percentile quadrants to entice me to his sodomy.
He and I, bedfellows of rebellious arrogance.
And though miserable, I company, lots and lots of companies.
I wonder into how many mirrors I will pass on my way to hell.
A shroud of glass might end it, but I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
Them my enemy and me their obsequious jester.
This vain and vile image.
We made him together.
Their expectations and my vanity.
My machinations and their will for sunshade from the truth of what we are.
We made him together, and laughing he awaits our arrival.
Tongue Twisters:
*********************************M********************************************
Meditation maliciously masks my mighty monogamous minx.
Modestly managing my machismo.
Mastering my maturity.
*********************************P*********************************************
Paranormal peasants of a pathetic and permanent percentile.
Penetrate peace from perjury.
A patriarch parallel to a partial and
partisan passage.
Jared Pickett
10/24/09
Asavvy1
My Healing Prayer
Written: by Tom Wright
The “Miracle Man”
6/30/2018
Jesus, the Good Shepherd, you’ve heeded another’s plea,
While on the far side knowing, they interceded for me.
You touched my body during Sudden Cardiac Arrest,
Placing me in the low percentile, who survive this test.
You gave sagacity to those who attended me, each day,
Your Spirit was mentoring them, each step of the way.
You know what it’s like to endure pain and even loss,
For you gave your life for my sin, upon a cruel cross.
My cardiologist called me Lazarus, others, Miracle Man,
And at times the Protected One epitomizing God’s plan;
Now I seek to feel useful and productive once again,
And thank you Lord Jesus for your healing touch. Amen.
Elysian fields long since embraced dada's soul
which rocketed into aerospace
(courtesy General Electric satellite)
just a tad more'n eighteen plus months ago,
nevertheless melancholy
still plucks mine heart strings.
Mine psyche still situated awry
placid countenance of yours truly doth belie
residual sadness easily prompted
can easily trigger me to cry
linkedin when grim reaper gloated
October 7th, 2020
ye did somewhat peacefully die
though methinks immortality
I did briefly espy,
when miracles of modern medicine
tried, but could not
stave off mortality nor fortify
depredations of aging concerning
one wunderkind whose accomplishments
laudatory when a young handsome guy,
whose intelligence scored high
native talent aptitude tests did imply.
The late Boyce Brandon Harris
exhibited prolific talents at young age
aside being scholastically gifted,
acquiring graduate degree
courtesy Columbia University,
freshly minted mechanical engineer
(he admirably ranked within
uppermost percentile academically),
I hashtag thy mine deceased father
(a polymath - jack-of-all-trades),
who possessed (née excelled)
at diverse creative abilities.
Aside from being schooled
as mechanical engineer,
(which courses in mathematics and science
he passed with flying colors)
his mind genetically bequeathed
to craft almost anything under the sun
evidenced first by yours truly,
the second offspring and sole son
who ofttimes felt intimidated
at being in presence
of said Renaissance man.
Handicrafts included
expending blood, sweat, and tears
to craft multitude of projects;
i. building me Flintstone (foot powered)
car with wooden license plate.
ii. making playhouse for all three
of us - his progeny.
iii. amassing wood pile(s),
to stoke wood burning stoves
iv. designing Zayda trail for Teddy and Ruff
(two doggone mixed breed Border Collies
rescued courtesy youngest sister
at her Jacobsburg, Penna work site)
v. constructing sauna in cellar,