Con Artist 5: final installment

I am despicable
But I believe to be an eagle amongst pigeons
I am a lying thief
But I believe I am a lion leading
I am a sad excuse for a human being
And I make fun of people who I have conned

If cornered like a street dog
I bite
I squirm
I whine
I say it’s mental health
I say it’s drugs
I say it’s anxiety
I try to pull each card I can think off
To get away with fraud and keep living my dream of being a billionaire


That was the last of the con artist series it’s all with the police now. Statement for court is written. Anxiety attack still there but under control. Back to focussing on positive poetry again.

Obsession

Con Artist 4: A free writing exercise

Random purging
Writing into empty space
Words emerge
From a cluster of emotions
Swirling unchecked
Unbounded
Uncontrolled
Churning stomach
Spiralling thoughts
Something still emerges
That resembles sense
Of kind
Somewhere
In there
Is thirst for revenge
Avenger angel is my spirit animal
Flaming sword my weapon
Anxiety creeps up my spine
Like an angry snake
Uncoiling in my stomach
ADHD means extreme sense of justice
And hyper–focus
Add cPTSD get emotional disregulation on steroids
So I make, write, create, draw, punch sandbags, lift iron
He, him, street dog
Flee ridden rat
Not the brightest candle on the birthday cake
Will be snuffed out
Law of attraction
You can also send things
I send back
I walk the ancient path
My gods are not nice
They are fair

Chris Martin, Hamilton, Scotland

Con Artist 3

Gibberish as if drunk
Late night texts
Tail between legs
Scared as fuck
Out of luck

His house has no mirrors
Lest he sees himself
But there are posters of lions
An odd tiger on the shelf

Likes to dream big
Billionaire is his flick
Alas he is lazy
So his plans are hazy
Fraud was an easy path

There are posters, too
Of muscle cars
If only his body knew
What muscles are
—or balls for that matter

But he thinks he is better
Than anyone else
Hence the tiger on shelf
He lives the conman dream
He secretly cackles
However, I know. We will see him in shackles.


Con Artist 2

“I am untouchable.”
He brags
Dunning-Kruger Effect
He doesn’t know
Damocles’ Sword
Hangs over him

He whines
Like a flea ridden street dog
When he thinks he’s in trouble
But quickly again
Gains confidence
Forgotten his alleged:
– mental health issues
– family funerals (his family is dead they all died apparently according to his statistic)
– family emergency
– broken car
– clients not paying him (this is why he is just taking your money duh!)
– drug addiction (he almost forgot to mention)

As he attacks
Before his teeny tiny tail
Goes between his legs again
As he goes to sleep
Dreaming of being a lion

Con Artist

Conman galore
He
Resides
In
Social Media

Marking time
Angling for victims
Ripping off
Thinking he has a good thing going
Intend on being rich
Never dreamt of being caught

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

If you want to keep up to date with latest developments on Christ Martin, Lanarkshire, Scotland (aka Fence Guy, aka Fence Man, aka CM Fencing, aka professional victim to hide his con) follow on IG.

How are you?

I am
Scintillating between rage and relentless optimism
Rage against:
Injustice
Unfairness
Hate
Anger
Egomania
Ignorance
Self-righteousness

Spending too much energy on fruitless anger
Nothing to come off it but exhaustion

Drawing from deep within:
Light
Connection
Support
Love
Friendship
Stories
Art
Make the light stick!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Not sure if this is still part of the poem or not ….

Stop being offended for the sake of satisfying self-righteousness
Your anger is not strength
It is fear compressed into tunnel vision
Strength is the ability to listen
To challenge your own worldview
To understand that the other
Holds as much worth as you

So you think your words aren’t worth?

Your worth was given at birth.
It is value you try to prove–if you must.
Trust the journey.
Every day you become more than you were yesterday.
Your life is worth.
Your humanity is worth.
Your smile is worth.
Your tears are worth.
Your pain is worth.
Your joy is worth … is worth the time and the space you inhibit.
Value is added.
What is it you want to give?
How do you want to serve?

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