Santa Claus

We better watch out, we better not cry, we must sit back and watch our children die. The police aren’t coming to town.

They hope that we are sleeping, they know that we’re awake, the police have been defunded. Load our guns for protections sake.

We better watch out, and don’t turn our backs, and our little ones have been innocently attacked.

The police aren’t coming to our towns. The kids in boy and girl clubs, might have a different history. Why, oh why, won’t the police come, and defend mommy and me?

The evil ones have burned down everything, and shattered every single dream. The legacy we left, is torn at the seams.

There will no police, coming to our towns, rich and poor alike. No one life is sacred now. Little bitty babies, dressed in pink or blue, buried in the ground. Mothers weeping endlessly, they had nothing to prove.

We all live in fear, and humanity too, board up the windows, bolt the doors, very, very soon.

Our wish list to our police officers, please stay around, don’t let our parents leave us to all to drown. We’re teffified that you’ll hurt us, that is the LIE, we’ve been told.

Defund the police! Your children pray, we would love to see everyone change.

We know God you’re listening, and please hold onto us very tight, Santa won’t be coming, unless our parents do what’s right…

Disclaimer: I promise you, this will be offensive to some. This is very personal to me, my heart breaks for this world. I will not apologize for the story I wrote, and I shouldn’t be forced to explain. Thanks, Jules


I’m held my tongue like so many others, my boiling point has been breached.

Destruction and ruin, murderers and theives, reflecting a horror movie like I’ve never seen.

Setting a homeless man on fire, they don’t give a damn, the statues torn down, some of them were for them.

Our history is getting erased, no-one seems to care, there’s nothing being done, we feel helpless and buying guns.

Infiltration, penetration, of our once safe neighborhoods, we lock our doors day and night, scared of what’s to come.

No protection for innocent families, the fear is growing fast, why is it okay when you’re blaming the past.

You don’t even know the history, the wars, the statues you’re not fighting for.

The police are afraid to do their job and arrest, so we live with and watch total unrest.

Learn what the statues and monuments mean, you’re erasing your own history, comprehension is void.

Anarchists, antichrist, is definitely on the rise, this is the one thing I cannot see, it’s blurring the lines.

I’ve said some things, but here’s why this poem is written, you’re tearing down Jesus Christ, tears and rage is in my heart.

We all saw it coming in Revelation, too soon, it has began and many will be consumed.

As a Christian, these thoughts are not who I am, pushed to far to ignore, to stop this leftist plan.

How can this really be happening? Or is it a nightmare that repeats itself, time and time again.

Wicked people, evil in their hearts, we must stand up and fight, if we do nothing at all, we are losing our constitutional rights.

Please don’t be offended, it is my right to speak, America is the land of the free, freedom comes, now goes.

I see my state where this country once began, freedom was given, they just don’t understand.

I pray to God to help me, to ease my mind, keep your eyes on Him only, I am told by my friends of mine.

Patriotic, a true blue American, I love this country just like most, old men and young soldiers tears streaming, proudly wearing their hats.

I thank them for them for their service, any chance I can, it runs deep in my family, far back to wars they fought in, for our freedom, they don’t give a damn.

My heart is broken ten times over, my brain is so puzzled and angry, I cannot comprehend, the Lord is coming soon that is His plan.

Satan is running rampant in this world, if you cannot see the path for us is shrinking, “In God We Trust ” eternally.

Yes, I am white, now just another target, division of our nation, black friends and family do not agree, separation now exists.

All in all, we are split in two, that’s our reality, disease and division is frightening, everyone can see.

I know I’m not the only one that’s feels this way, I pray please Lord help us every single day.

I am not a racist, they are, what’s happening is just wrong, shine your light upon them, crush satan with full armor of God on.

Prepare and be wise, pray for understanding and love to all, it’s time we stand up for His glory and ask forgiveness from the Lord, He is with us after all, to any accord–


He’s the first and the last, the beginning and the end.

He’s the keeper of creation, and the creator of all, he’s the architect of the universe, and the manager of all time.

He always was, he always is, and he always will be.

Unmoved, undefeated, unchained, and never undone.

He was bruised and brought healing. He was pierced in his pain. He was persecuted and brought freedom. He was dead and brought life. He is risen and brings power. He reigns and brings peace.

The world can’t understand him, the armies can’t defeat him, the schools can’t explain him, and the leaders can’t ignore him.

Herod couldn’t kill him. The Pharisees couldn’t confuse him. The people couldn’t hold him. Hitler couldn’t silence him.

He is alive, love, longevity and more. He is goodness, kindness, gentleness and God. He is Holy, Righteous, Mighty, Powerful and more. His ways are right and his word is eternal. His will is unchanging, and his mind is on me.

He is my Redeemer. He is my Savior. He is my God. He is my Joy. He is my Comfort. HE IS MY LORD, AND HE RULES MY LIFE!

Quote -The worst thing about being blind, is having no vision -Helen Keller

I would like to tell you all, my story, an introduction if you will. My name is Julie Woss, I have been battling bi-polar disorder, OCD, and severe anxiety disorder. M y poetry is an tool I chose to use my mental illness to my advantage. It makes it erratic and different. I was always fighting myself, and the stigma attached to mental illness can be devastating. I had to deal with it for a very long time. I feel the need to tell you all, that my poetry can be dark-depression, happy-mania, and sometimes when I’m not cycling like crazy, my poetry is solid. But I shouldn’t be forced to explain why my poetry can be all over the place. I felt the need to let everyone know a piece of me goes into everything I write, it’s just who I am, I never want to be shoved into a circle, by a square peg! Thanks for listening!


Booming, falling, diving head first, like dynamite, blasting off caps.

In the near distance, teetering precariously, over board, look out below.

Shining rocks, crystals, beautiful waterfalls abouding, giving birth, at will.

Morracan tiles red, silver, white, sparkles, catch my untrained eye.

Some, timid, others unafraid, catch me if you can, unfriend and delete me.

Wide eyed wonder, monsters terrified, be still, don’t fret, noisefilled, quiet.

Trying so hard, not a freakish ghoul, aloft.

Staggering colors, lime and brimstone, gold to copper, a stairway to heaven.

White streamers, dangle, like a Christmas trees past.

Kaboom, goes a tree, after tree, roots once alive, dried and deceased.

Brave, just a little afraid, so big, tempted, it must be, another soldier must fall.

Make shift stadium, room for a few more. In , between, the dark, not afraid, terrified, black eyes.

Stare, at me not, pass my door, bloodshed, in every corner.

Subtle reminder, wind, soft, warm, unceasing, my flesh, stings wickedly.

Young warm, cold, red, burning sun, cool day.

One by one, they come, departing quickly, they disappear.

Innocuous, strangers, why question, answered in monotone, must leave it alone.

Scorching, rocks, slippery underneath, beaten, dear wind, leave me, your grasp.

Harnessed, not tethered, wild, yet free, myself to myself, only my mind moves me.


Not red, not black, not brown, not white, not yellow

Yet, it’s beautiful

Not one, not two, not three, not four, not five

Yet, six is it’s lucky number

Multicolors of pink, blue, yellow, green, white, red, purple, and orange.

All of these hidden away, carefully placed together, like an immaculate deck of cards. Little brown bags, adhesive is the glue.

Astonishing as it is, phenomenally radiant, its color is blonde, it’s strings equal six, Beauty is it’s name, and tempo plays the game.

My Father, His Daughter

When I was a little girl, my father sang to me, softly strumming his guitar, lulling me to sleep.

His gentle kind voice, I remember it well, into a sweet slumber, I gently fell.

He is my father, I am his daughter.

As we grew older, we’d talk about put song, His beautiful words, we’re derived from psalms.

My father fell ill, and hit his knees, He cried out Lord! Please forgive me?!?

He is my father, I am his daughter.

Forgive him for what? Loving his children, just like me!

He left our world, Unfortunately, my children are grown, they say this to me, You’re just like your father, I smile graciously.

Dear Lord, I’m eternally grateful, thank you for lending him to me.

Thy Holy Father, Thy precious one, You told the story, Of my father’s song.

He is my father, I am his daughter.

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