to oppress
means to abuse;
the oppressed
are the people
you have abused
with words
to degrade them,
and actions
to end their lives
every day it seems
they pay prices
for sins they can't remember
and the people
who receive their money
are the people
they work for.

if it doesn't make sense,
make a change.

Thank you fighting Irish
          For standing by my side
           If even for a moment
        I'm glad we share this Pride

       We came amazing distance
      from oppression at our throats
       They cut us way down deep
       and we wear the fighting coat

       It's tattooed on your skin
          Almost everywhere
           No one ever doubts
    The connection that we share

    So I'm sending Irish blessing
      to help you on your way
     I know that you don't need it
      but I hear the bagpipes say

    Our hands were made for fighting
        Defending Irish wings
          Saint Christopher
        stands firm with you
          Until the final ring

      You are a Boondock Saint
           bringing laughter
          with your mirth
     Defending here with us
   Fighting hell upon this Earth

     Eventually a rest will come
       with our Fighting Irish kin
         when you lay down
           all your burdens
               let go
          of Earthly sins
           a battle
             you will
                win
                 when
                   you are
                   .....finally
                         free
                            again.

Much Love to you my Irish Brothers XO

Cherie Nolan © 2016

I dreamt that wax
sqeezed out from my ears
like toothpaste.
Dripped onto my feet
casting a mold.
Statuing my legs.
Zipping up my hips.
I dreamt my throat
was a metal pipe
running dry.
Vibrating echoes
cut short and
replaced with a dusty ellipsis.

Passively shrinking
inside a shell
that I'll never be
strong enough to crack.

How did this happen?
How did the thing we're made of
become the thing to **** us?

i was twelve when my aunt took me by the hand
and lead me like a dog across the cotton gin;

white teeth, white skin, white cotton–
it left a nausea in my stomach that i couldn’t place

i didn’t know, dear lord i didn’t know
why my dark skin hid under long sleeves in the dead of summer

my frame shook as i crouched in the warm field,
sweat pouring down my brow

i still remember pulling my hands away from the thistle,
a small drop of crimson beading against my thumb

i ****** and it was gone, copper leaden on my tongue,
an albatross hung snugly around my neck

Dad and Mom both want me
To dress like they both dress.
If I don’t follow their rules
They think my life is a mess.
I understand that they don’t
Like the way I wear my hair
But, if haircuts are mentioned
In the Constitution, tell me where.

I’ll be a mullet-wearing hipster
As a dedication to yesterday
If ever a day is officially declared
Celebrating double-knit polyester.
But until that day comes, folks
I want you both to know
I don’t want to look like I am
Character from a television show.

I don’t mean to be picky here
But I have suffered the ridicule.
I was the only kid dressed up
Like a CPA in elementary school.
We’re not talking about me
Joining a gang of outlaw crooks.
I just don’t want to get beat up
Because of the way I look.

I’m not shaving ‘***** you’ in
The back of my shaved head.
Neither do I want to come
Dressed as a nerd instead.
It’s probably all about moderation
And less about modern style
But with your kind permission
I’d like to talk with you awhile.

Let’s come to some happy medium
Where you don’t think it’s a scam
That I want to enjoy my youth
And be the person I really am.
I do understand parental guidance
And am grateful that you are here.
But please let me get with the times
Before I prematurely age ten more years.