#unclesam
i have an Uncle
he steals my money
he steals my ****
and burns it all
in front of me
i have an Uncle
who’s a misogynist and racist
a murderer and ******
a fascist and a terrorist
he stole my Fathers’ lands
he beats my Mother’s womb
he is addicted to white powder
black blood and green gold
he worships forces
to seize control
over every mind, body, and soul
my Uncle belongs in prison
but he owns those too
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 11:38 AM UTC
Uncle Sam sometimes whispers a little bit too close.
I’ve felt so many scraps scraping against my cheek-
those numerous numberless things he carries in his
beard by ‘accident’. So many things get stuck there
and I feel them all, whenever he dares, and he dares
often, to whisper alittlebittooclose. One time the grey
beard leaned in and touched me in my sleep and
planted in me strange dreams of faraway gothic towers
passing off as libraries: Harvard dreams, Princeton
dreams, Yale dreams: I haven’t quite slept since. The
shaggy scraps stuck to the forest of strands on his face
would never let me. They scratch away at me often
even in the brightness of day, and claw jaggedly in the
darkness of night. Little heart of mine has lost its own
beat. It beats to the beat of a beat on a beat from a beat
with a beat by a beat which beats those beats and beats
beats that beat not of my beat. Little heart of mine, when
did you lose your own pulse? Why won’t you tell your family
that Uncle Sam’s whispers are more than whispers? Why
won’t you tell your family what Uncle Sam does to you
in the brightness of day when everyone is smiling as Uncle
Sam pats your shoulder? Little heart of mine, why doesn’t
your family know what Uncle Sam does in the darkness
of night as he whispers whispers under your whispers and
what he does beneath your skin? Didn’t you know, little heart?
They have laws that say that greybeards shouldn’t be digging
into little boys’ insides, don’t they.
(Uncle Sam has travelled
far and wide, far and wide to tell me lies.
Recall that this is not the first time…)
But little heart you know why. This is not the first time.
It is the natural progression for a Coconut like you:
darkness of night on outside and brightness of day on inside.
Your skin doesn’t matter; you all taste the same.
Cut you off the homeland-tree and cart you all away.
Then, in this way we can say and say the homeland is “Rising”-
Uncle Sam tells the world of his diversity in selection
of little boys to touch with strange dreams.
And I like the feel of the scraps in his beard. Maybe
I can become one of them. One with them.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC
Welcome to America
The land of the free
And the home of the sane
Here in America
There isn’t much to see
Unless you’re in the clutches of insanity and pain
Uncle Sam is watching
Step out of line
You get a bullet in the head
All to protect Uncle Sam
Bow to him and everything will be fine
The time is coming
Uncle Sam will face trial by fire
Anarchy will reign
It is coming
We the insane will rise
And burn Uncle Sam on his funeral pyre
To put an end to the people’s pain
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 2:04 AM UTC