Culture-killing
future;

Future-killing
culture.

Mozart,
Shakespeare,
Picasso.

Auschwitz,
Hiroshima,
My Lai.

Two sides;
one culture.

"Everybody's shouting,
which side are you on?"

   mce

This poem is for the *******.
The ice princesses.

Solid and frozen.
Hearts carved from arctic stone.
Jaw lines so sharp they could *cut you.
Girls so bitter, *they bite.

Leave your mouth aching.

This is for the evil stepsisters,
The Ursulas,
The Queens of Broken Hearts -

I’ll tell you.
They are deadly beautiful.

They are the bossy, and the terribly too honest.
Mouths on fire,
jaws snapping,
man eaters,
sirens of the sea,
they will swallow you whole.

When the boys ask -
Tell them, no, I don’t need saving.

**** being a princess.
Be the dragon.

Be fire breathing, and pmsing.
Be angry, girl.

Cause you got **** to be angry about.

Every cat call –
Every glass ceiling you will shatter with your bare hands –
Every time you say the word no and mean it –
Every time they make you feel like you anything less than powerful.

You tell them –
You are eternal.

That you carry a generation in your belly -
That it all begins and ends here, inside you.

That you can bleed for seven days straight and come back with teeth sharpened for war.

Remind them that that when something is taken from you, you will do everything you can to get it back.

You will destroy what destroys you.
Eating fire and spitting brimstone.
And never, ever saying sorry.

They will call you crazy.
They will call you over emotional.
They will call you loud mouth.

They will ask for your smile, pretty girl.
Give it to them with poison ivy lips and a razor blade between your teeth.

What no body knew was that Ursula was King Triton’s sister.
A perfect storm.
Banished from the palace -
When a loud, powerful woman gets out of hand, we don’t call it leadership.
We call her dog.
*****.
Bossy.
Fangs out and snarling, we don’t battle, we cat fight.
**** kitten gone wrong, when she learns to leave scars.

A dog, no not a dog, a wolf in heat.
Domestication is a ***** word.

***** is to know your worth, and take it.

To carry it in your esophagus.
A war cry.
Feeding your enemies to your children, and coming back starving for seconds.

Doing anything to stay alive.

Because you were raised by a mother who fed you fear for supper.
Packed your backpack with mace, and brass knuckles.
She told you to turn your body into a weapon.
She knew there would be men who would try to cover your mouth.
So she taught you to bite.

This is how you protect yourself.
A mouth full of *****, and a bark to match.
“Beware of dog” sign around your throat.

This is how you keep them away.
This is how you warn them.

Because the villain was not always the villain.

She was made that way.
You were made this way.

You’ve got brands still healing, still smoking, skin still searing.
You’ve got a trauma written in your blood.
You’ve got a ribcage holding onto your heart too tightly.

You are chasing down a revenge so sweet it could rot your teeth.
A heart attack romance asleep in your chest.

You will come back home limping after this war.

And you will tell all the other girls -

It ain’t all about the love story.
**It’s about the “being in love with yourself” story.

Im feeling confined by
lines leniently lighting the way.

The ******* I bare
constitute
the clothes I wear

So the curve in my line carries cat calls all day.

आफाया देग्लाय द्लाम बोरायबाय
मै- जुंगालखौ बानखांनोनो हालिया
बोथोरावनो आयआबो थाबद्राय बुरैबाय
दैहु थाइसेखौनो फाफेर हालिया;
लाइमोन सनाखि- सनास्रिमोनजोँ
एदावजा- जंखायजा आबौआ हले
बियो दाना अमिताभ बसन बाराबा
दरमेन्दर बादिसै गोसोआव।
दैहु फाफेरना दुहु दुहु
सुरि जालांनाय दखना सुरिया आयनि,
थावोनाव लजिँ थाबायनाय आब'मोनहा
सोरनि बिघ्दा मोनखोथाय-
आयनि दखना सुरिखौल' नङा
लाइटार लगायबाय सालामाटानिखौनो,
बुरै आयाबो गानसै दाना सिख्रि मेगन
नङाबा हारसा मेलेमनि आर्टिँ आगर।
मोसौ दामब्राजोँबो रुजु जायै
आंनि देरसिन आदाया
लावमुरा आफानि मोसौ हालुवाखौ
मानोबा खेब खेब नायनो हालिया,
मुम्बाइ- बेँलरनि बारा बेनाव नांदोँ।
थिफुद्लीलि आयनि फिसाजो
बैसोआव बेसेबा आंनि उन्दै
बियो जोनोमावनो उल्टाखा नामाथाय-
दाउखि हनाय एबा गोबोर गारनाय
दैहु फाफेरनाय
बाराबा दैज्लांआव बिसन फुनाय
माय गायनायखौनो बाद हो,
संग्रा अकदाबाव ओँखाम दो जाननो
सि: सि: बियो लाजियो;
मिसनाव फरायना सोरनि रोँबोखोथाय-
खाल्साराल' नङा
आसार आखु थाल्ला सोलायबाय।
सासे फंबाय दं
बेबो राव रोँनाय मेडियामाव
मेडियाम माने स्पेसियाल मेडियाम,
नांगोल जुंगालखौथ' सिनाया सिनाया
खोमायावनो खोना बावथ्राखैनो-
उन्दैयावनो दोनहर जानायथ'-।
आय आफानि आंबो सासे
बयनिबो गेजेर फिसा हौवा
गन्थं दाब्ला, मोदोम बन्दा
मेँख्ल'-ख्ल, मोखां खावब्ला- ब्ला,
नांगोल जुंगालखौथ' रोङा नङा
लाइजामखौबो लिरनो रोङा नङा
सुखु- दुखु हास्थायनाय- बोराबनाय
मबाइलजोँ खौरांबो हरनो हागौ आं
आंनि सोमोन्दोआव नाबोथिनो आरो
सोरबा सोरबा खुरमा आमाय- आनैमोननो,
लावख्रिगुरि- बाथारमारि- बिरहांगामि
नङाबा कक्राझार, बंङाइगामि, बिजनि
Hero Honda एबा टेक्टरबो सालायनो हागौ
सान्नांगौआ बेसो जाबाय टेनसना
बादायलायनाय गोनोखोनि मुगायाव
कमफुटार- इन्टारनेटखौ सिनायनो
हाबावगोनदाबि?
जाहाज- इर'प्लेन गाखोनायनि
सिमांथ' गैयानो।

White smoke dancing in the air
A pretty smile and the natural swaying of her hair.
Dark lips and a laugh that echoes in her head.
Thinking about what lies ahead
Keeping a straight face is harder than it seems.
For she has learned to fake
the difference of a smile and a tear
She can no longer make appear.
Living in her one way mentality
She resides next to fear and goes to  sleep with reality.
While having an affair with fantasia
This goes on daily it's impossible to interfere
But as dreams become sueños they turn into esperanza and that is all she needs to keep her fighting for la causa
The session is over but she's learned a new lesson
A reminder from her Spirits
"Don't forget where you came from
 and what you came for. "
Then she slowly disappears...

Buddha belly, rabbit’s foot,
how much luck can you get
                                                    from touching the dead?

(Maybe that’s the reason behind Jeffrey Dahmer’s slaughtering of
                                                                ­                         seventeen men;
maybe that’s the reason why we break wishbones—
to remind ourselves that this bone is dead
                                            these hands are alive
                                            do something with them.)

In some cultures, it is socially acceptable to
                             eat your child’s placenta—
there is good fortune in it, power in it.

(I wonder if this is the reason why cannibals eat their victims.)

Number seven.  Cross on the wall.
         I wish you good luck.

Bricks and mortar, steel and boards,
Phone poles lined with power cords, on
Pothole streets, where engines roar,
'Neath smoggy skies, where jet planes soar,

Where penny merchants peddle wares,
And news reports pretend they care,
Where vagrants sleep, and children stare,
And people work for lives not theirs,

That's life in the jungle, adrift in the herd,
Where terrestrial beasts envy free flying  birds
Where the pundits stand polished, and speak empty words,
And the artists paint portraits, while posted on curbs,

Where the men push carts, full of empty cans,
And the women spend paychecks, for spray-on tans,
Where the truckers drive loads, 'cross a thousand mile span,
To appease the great gods of supply and demand,

Asphalt and tarmac, girders and glass,  
Terrarium trees in cemented sod grass,
Ripe with the stench of exhaust fumes and gas,
As the choir lines up for the 10 o'clock mass,

While the brokers all scream, at a packed stock exchange,
As the veterans in wheelchairs sit begging for change,
That's life in the jungle, it's just a big game,
But remember you're playing, lest you go insane.