Tainted Sushi

You're a little tea pot upon a swine’s snout      
Your IQ is nothing to shout about      
When I get weary, I just change the images my created by hand designed clothes      
Are you sharp enough to know that is Dinaro when it flows    
Just tip you over and pour you out      
Tired old bones, the essence of youth, dust in the menopause of your drought      
       
From the journey of life      
To the stench of your forevermore to the dead course you keep singing about, still wishing for rebirth utilizing your name in strife      
I could really care less, who you are      
In Heaven there are shinning stars, in Hell, yours, the mind pushes lies very far      
Evil and envious opened my door, then begged for mercy through a Hummingbird not to reveal you’re the dirty secret of your shores      
Polluted minds      
The lack luster in the divinity of your nature does not shine      
No identity crises noted from this side of the pond, Miss. Teapot      
I could only imagine tainted sushi I can smell from here, when you cough      
I can see why you use appealing images to get a male’s mind off      
You are interchangeable with altered images of youthfulness, yet, half a century and being so.. and no more cream of anyone’s crop without being AI photoshopped      
       
Thank goodness I know who I am, take me all, as my femineity stands      
The fighter for better life, the healer, the mortal dealer      
Balancing fate and destiny when the scales have been shifted and souls are used to defame others, that should never be approved or allowed      
No pity by words, choices, syllables or by vowels      
I am not a textbook definition of being classified of deranged, hiding the real me in a bed of sand      
Life goes on, grand delusions and still rise when I stand      
Run yourself a bath cleanse you soul and your mind, start yourself all over      
And make a wish you do not conjure your life forcers while flying on a broom around here like you a four-leaf clover      
       
I come in peace      
If disturbed, I'm kicking your ass back to Hiroshima with the tip of both flying feet      
Little Miss Teapot, I am not the rainbow I am the thunder, lightning, and the torrential rains      
Stay in your fortune cookie Miss, Jackie Chan      
Or today for you, my shit for soy sauce in your lo mien      
Hara-Kiri to give your coward beloved some worth      
Death with no honor, a shadow in your eyes who still roam, I will slice and dice to give your life meaning from your headless rebirth      
Labor camps, rice fields, sex camps, public baths, sweat shops, and that good old USA nuclear radiation      
Cries out from your nuked soul, barren land, bitterness, birth defects, and death by human starvation      
I can sell you out, bend you over, and allow my wraith or the elements to give you some gravitation      
     
Or my deadly Asp slithering up YOUR nasty ass      
Miss. Jackie Chan swirling hate in your Little Tea Pot stay in your lane      
No fame when you are sticking your nose and chinky eyes in someone’s game      
And you are not the chosen piece to play, you know the price for intruders, your neck to slay      
You wish you did have my type of pleasure, I am sex, lust, porn-a- gram if you ask, and in my words, foreplay      
     
I will tell you so as the sultry of my aura drifts      
A kiss to men lips and their arousal to uplift      
I get a royal cheek just for the write, just for the look      
I am the next best wet dream from the pages of my published books      
Getting pleased and licked from my breasts, up and down the slopes of my ass, to the essence that trickles from my clit      
In my day... that is a triple sexual hit      
Mm… my philanthropist men… have no complaints ... what… you want me to add your name to watch on my pleasure list        
Another jealous ... image..  hold up…darn it      
I have to use the bathroom, get down on your knees, open your mouth real wide, swallow it      
Hum.. I see you do not like the taste of my shit      
If not, bitch      
The don’t come at me like you got a dick…      
     
You can go and drown your sorrows in some Sakka, and your crawling meals that still have head, classified as meat      
I suppose that is political enough for you, I can catch the arrows and duck before anything embeds too deep      
Roll with the punches, and still be lady enough to give up that butter rum honey      
If you ain’t singing to me about donating to charities, lending your voice for third world countries going hungry, helping the homeless or cancer with monthly monetary contributions, or a way to increase my crypto currency wallet or how to invest my money      
Then you are the imposter, with only words to define yourself, you not even in the running      
A nursey rhyme, for busting on my scene with nothing to say, I call that wasting my time      
     
     
Duck Sauce Anyone