"bootstraps" poems
I like immigrants, immigration. Legal immigration,
Jane passionately corrects. Actually my goal is a borderless world.
Gathering the neighborhood like family.
The men discuss sterilizing welfare mothers. I say You're working
around the edges,
humanity has exceeded the carrying capacity of the planet,
even those with jobs. And spouses. And houses.
Yet it's an idyll of an early summer evening, new cut grass,
two baseball teams of children playing in it. Safe from Pakistan.
News photos of Muslim refugees, women in blue robes, biblically
carrying children away from holocaust. The fundamentalist army
not far behind, beheading sinners, sure in its righteousness
as the Holy Roman Empire.
Somehow Joel Osteen the evangelist comes up
while talking about how the Catholic Church is irrelevant in North
America,
even Latin America and Africa are going evangelical.
Izzi likes Osteen, awesome extemporaneous speaker, no teleprompter,
up from bootstraps message. My wife says he's probably Jewish.
Fortunately no one claims the Holocaust never happened or slavery
was voluntary.
What is the carrying capacity of the planet?
In China is it each couple or each adult that gets one offspring?
As life expectancy and standards rise,
family size diminishes. We draw together into greener, tighter cities.
The children of three monotheistic religions, atheists and agnostics
play in city streets, work farm fields, explore forests, deserts,
grasslands, space.
Two ancient female poets: Enheduanna and Sappho
are a revelation. The clarity of their complaints:
lost lover, lost city.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
I've come to the conclusion
That my life's a wreak
Poetry strewn all about
My house the biggest mess
So here I am in the middle of the den
In a pile of poetry on the floor
A desperate man with phone in hand
Since I can't seem to find the door
I call up a Psychic
I call up my Shrink
I call up the local Priest
To ask them what they think
They say there is no hope for me
Through the static on the phone
Right before they all hang up
I hear...boy you're too far gone
So I grab a hold my bootstraps
Pick my own self up
Determined to have this problem licked
With prayers and major luck
Starting in on this poetic clean
One thing that I found
I wrote on just about anything
That I had laying around
There was poetry on party napkins
On Chinese take out meals
Tiny poetry on tiny matchbooks
Even on banana peals
Poetry on the chandelier
Poetry on my cat Floss
Poetry on ***** dishes
I wrote with spaghetti sauce
Poetry on the mirrors
Smiling back at me
Poetry on Seinfeld
Across my T.V. screen
Poetry on the kitchen tile
That's never seen a mop
On the doors going in and out
And places I dare not look
I started cramming it all in boxes
Lining them up and down the halls
Soon had them in every room
3 feet deep and 8 feet tall
I made 15 trips to storage
The biggest one that I could find
Feeling now it's nice and safe
All packed tight, warm and dry
When it all was over
Feeling relief from that major chore
Set down in my den, took out my pen
And started writing more...
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 7:14 AM UTC
“I had to make something of myself”
He had tattoos and a shaved head
His past was more than a memory
It was a life that that almost left him for dead
As I let him stick the needle in
I felt no pain while I measured his pride
My indifference was for a moment forgotten
As I considered his leap across the great divide
“Pull yourself up by your bootstraps”
Mere words spoken easily on a sunny day
Should a man define himself by his possessions
Or the distance traveled to find his way?
The gates of hell were made known to me
As the pardoned ghetto rat walked my way
In his calm moment he spoke as if he had seen God
And reminded of the blessings we throw away
“Honor your mother and your father”
His child wanted to climb only one family tree
He carried the mark of brown and white
And wondered which one he should be
But there is no choice to make
It is the life of a half-breed
And the gangster nurse knew
The pain his choices would breed
“Oh so now you’re too good for us”
His future was as uncertain as his past
But in the wisdom of the violence he had vanquished
He knew it was time to stop the legacy at last
The man with the face of America’s fear
Said goodbye to the people who had his back
In his hands were the eyes looking for a father
And in his words was the courage that I lack
May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 5:59 PM UTC
On a long journey across the night of an America
I drove into the desert landscape and beheld
Elvis and Morrison, Hendrix and Dylan
In a ditch to the side of the road, with trash bags in their hands.
They seemed to whistle while they worked,
But the notes just wafted into the night, not nearly fast enough to catch my speeding
Cadillac.
In the morning, I stopped into a diner
With my breakfast and coffee,
I saw a newspaper that was guaranteed by the Andy Warhol himself
to be one hundred percent truthful.
I didn't read it. Had to get back on the road
The desert went on forever, and in the oil fields
I saw Jackson Pollack, standing by a gusher,
Wearing a cheshire grin.
I smiled back at him, secure in the knowledge that I would have enough gas to get
where I was going.
The announcer's voice blasted through my car's radio.
He said Poe had solved overpopulation,
and that Emerson, Thoreau, Uncle Walt and Miss Em
had got their hands ***** and fed the entire continent of Africa.
I shut him off and bore my eyes down on the asphalt ahead.
I passed a drive in theater on the left side of the road
and caught a glimpse of Scorsese accepting the Nobel Prize for Peace.
Someone told me later that he and DeNiro had stopped genocide.
I politely nodded and got back in my car.
Out there was America and I was going to find it.
Out there was industry and capital.
Out there was ingenuity and hard work.
Out there were my own bootstraps waiting for me to pull them up.
Out there was
America,
and I was going to find it fast.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 3:49 AM UTC
My country right or wrong
we shall still sing her song and bombs away
on you
Bombs away on FDR we think he got away too far
in giving peasants below, our merit, the audacity to inherit,
our country 'tis only for me'
We'll work you until your flesh falls off, nine till five is not enough, to sell our gizmos here and far, to gluttons all alike
Ooops! (melody old man river)
... Oh tote dat barge and lift dat bale,
ya gets ah little drunk and ya lands in Jaaail
Pull yourself by your own bootstraps, who cares if opportunity naps, while the "America Dream" fades away
cause thirty years of us
America ' tis only for me but not those signers of Democarcy
in Philly where they took that oath, on that **** parchment
I abhor,
on that damnable parchment I ABHOR!!
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
Trump feathers his caps
faux wings fly his maps
in mind's pond, gold laps
a big ego he claps
his faucet lost taps
a drought he play wraps
behind two faces yaps
of how he fills gaps
enough of his craps
where our poor dig scraps
and our rich gift wraps
enough watching saps
with twitter backslaps
and infidelity bootstraps
enough of this cold snaps
as our leader naps
of dreams his madcaps
I say impeach, asap(s)
than befall his traps
Logan Robertson
5/31/2018
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 2:02 PM UTC
Moral pulls herself up
by her own bootstraps
on her high horse boots
with stir ups when I visit
and the rocking chairs
throw down newspapers
and stand to attention
in the name of Moral support
looking like we might be game
who holds the whip hand in this sport?
I straddle the fence
with her strict father
Duty
Duty gives the orders here
we try to carry them out
they're no heavy burden
not keeping mum Mercy
from being close
to daughter Moral
Duty is of higher rank
and gives Moral
direction
Duty sets the boundary
Mercy's bound to
follow
while Moral
carries the compass
and the compassion
of a conscience
Me?
I'm loyal
love enough
and
light enough
to jump the fences
with my own defence
Moral permits
This defence is
good for morale
but Duty is always on guard
for Moral
a perfect match
that can have
a deadly when ignited
bite to catch
those who are free spirited
When Duty's asleep
alone
he leaves a stern
guardian
off the safety catch
in Duty of care
for Moral
- Discipline
I must steal
this care
away
from the arms of Discipline
when Moral's involved
because Discipline
in the hands of Duty
would explode in the face
of neighbourly straying
should Duty do what he sees
fit
without Mercy at his side
But should Duty awaken
alone
to his Moral's
dilemma
I fear
his Moral Discipline
can be Merciless
Did we burn our breeches?
almost
we rode a city of them
chaste
off racecourse
to show
Moral Italy
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
One cries from a foxhole
A tear splashes an urn
Some dance laced in bootstraps
Many diminished returns
Two shuffle tarots
“All in!” Shouts a third
Homesteads brandish wind chimes
Infant dreams lay deferred
A quiet malarkey
As hunger pangs ring
Piled high, bullion
Cages hearts and clips wings
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 1:00 AM UTC
It might be the pungent steam from a ***
steeping herbs meant to bend its sippers'
minds to potent effect, or an unanticipated
digestive reckoning from that mawkishly flavored
brand of store-bought paste they pass as butter.
However the dough arises, their collective
recollection of storied events, lengthwise sliced
and ritually rehearsed, hops facilely on the ****
of a bucking and overtly nonsensical wind.
Tea parties with slippery perspectives
have been shown quite clinically to induce
heightened sensitivity in participants,
so it's prudent to set about tidying the facts:
The hatter, it's become clear, shifted one place
too many and disappeared with a trace -- leaving
behind his hat to nobody's great advantage.
Lacking a wearer, the headgear's reputation for
producing madness has rapidly diminished.
The march hare pulls off his change in a very
separate and seasonal way: the bunny's
bottom half somersaults its top to occupy
both his spot and the hatter's vacated seat.
The dormouse upon its latest arousal
is re-visioned to be small, but not much mouse
at all. He's plush with the long-in-the-ear habit
of a pink stuffed rabbit, which the crusading hare
furiously declares is most curious, casting
doubt on the vermin's commitment to "no room."
Alice remains foremost in tact and is given
a bonus of two spare feet complete with slackened
bootstraps. She keeps them and her other luxury
items well-sheltered behind a stout table leg.
The absentee hatter doesn't dare shame her
with a radio-show call-in decrying
the waste. She's generously agreed to
cover the medical expenses from his firm flop.
May 27, 2010
May 27, 2010 at 2:54 PM UTC
Unspoken Wisdom Speaks
What has Integration taught the American ***** It taught the ***** how to struggle, scrap, and scrape, as well as, tries as he may, in order to provide for his family; in time hopefully, he determines in life this may if not always will be necessary
What has Integration taught the American ***** It taught the ***** that society has a hefty, respect for a winner, yet it has a habit of closing as many doors as possible which limits the Negro’s ability to obtain this elusive and yes lofty goal in life
What has Integration taught the American ***** It taught the ***** that society expects a certain amount of personal initiative yet it attempts to discourage the ***** at every corner by forcing them to focus on the obstacles and roadblocks rather than the strategy necessary to overcome the difficult tasks at hand
What has Integration taught the American ***** It taught the ***** that it is possible to bootstrap your way to success, however, it fails to inform the ***** exactly where the bootstraps are kept
What has Integration taught the American ***** It taught the ***** that the American dream can be accomplished by anyone who truly has a desire to obtain it; however, it fails to inform the ***** that the dream has various levels of reward and some are quite egregious
What has Integration taught the American ***** It taught the ***** that failure is a natural course of life when one seeks to obtain a level of success; however, it failed to tell the ***** that the obstacles for some are not nearly as challenging as it is for others
What has Integration taught the American ***** It taught the ***** that we are offered an entry level position and we should be grateful for this success and if we seek more; then the challenge of being accepted is added to the challenges of preparing for the next level
What has Integration taught the American ***** It taught the ***** that mastering the skills of the next level can be a practice in futility if his behavior doesn’t fit in with what is considered the norm for American Negroes in the eyesight of greater society
What has Integration taught the American ***** It taught the ***** that obtaining the goal is only a part of the battle; praise from, recognition by, and acceptance of your supposed peers is the next challenge
What has Integration taught the American ***** It taught the ***** to try as he may and he may be granted entry, providing that he has honestly tried as he might (SMILE)
What has Integration taught the American *****
On’ know
Exclusively and Originally Written By Elvan
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 10:43 AM UTC
On the playgrounds of the future
Children will laugh and sing
And we’ll cross the bridge to real peace
Where the bells of sanity shall ring
Until then we’ll play the game
Which will all add up to naught
“It’s your fault, no, it’s theirs…”
Why some fail at what is taught.
We’ve been given new books and bosses
Numerous regs to do the job
But money flows to the burbs
Inner-cities fair game to rob
Touching the future may seem easy
From a point too far away
One could assume it’s all just ditto -
Then lunch - then math - then play
If this is your belief
You could not be further from the fact
That success is measured forward
As we have our students’ back
So forward we will plod
Secretly teaching to the mean
We will test, and test and test
From which all congress shall glean
Information in nice neat form
Of bars and charts sublime
Symbolic of teachers and students
Who have been sentenced to hard time
And the monied districts shall rule
Golden in and out
And the bootstraps will appear
Accusing all who doubt
Good will be the words to spread
And many who will eat them
The failures will be shown the straps
But for pity’s sake, don’t beat them
G. Davis-Feldman
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 9:54 AM UTC
Sooner or later
the time comes
to pick yourself up,
reach for them bootstraps,
pull up out of the dark mire.
Your fire smolders
& staying in the pit
keeps you so.....
but you have so much
more to live,
give yourself
a fighting chance,
flame on & fly away
into the sunlight.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 6:38 AM UTC
for the hungry
in body, mind and soul
is everybody's business
should be a common goal
*"we have ours my poet friend
a special day? indeed...
soup kitchens aplenty
to minister the need"*
but the drunkard with his bottle
the druggie with her pipe
may not be all that grateful
may even cuss and gripe
why? you may ask yourself.
it's common. it's not news
let me tell you as a one who knows
i walked in them there shoes
holidays are hard
the addicted have the blues
*"they deserve rejection
they are all at fault
they'd pull up their bootstraps
if they were worth their salt!"*
but the folks i speak of
have burnt up family. friends.
it is a cycle they can't stop
sans God it never ends
so giving them a dinner
may fill a certain need
but spreading out the Love of God
is an enduring seed
don't talk down to them
if they are ready, share
you'll find they may just listen
and are tired of despair
we do have a burden
we have a heavy load
showing love to the unlovable
where the rubber hits the road
but if i didn't do it
a hypocrite i'd be
that person with the bottle
save God's grace
could be ME.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 11/23/2015
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC
In a sea of lost souls
I can’t believe you haven’t found me yet
I mean
I’ve never seen so many people
Get so close to each other without touching
And I want so badly
To tattoo in thick black letters
Over my heart
The word
FOUND
This is for the people who
Are still waiting to be found
For the boys who thought they had her heart
and lost it
This is for the bravery of trying
For the bravery it takes to let someone hurt you
On a chance that they won’t
This is for the bootstraps
Caked in the dirt that you fall in
For how white your knuckles get in the rising
For the ones who have something to give
But think they have nothing to give
For the ones who have nothing to give
And try and give anyway
You will always have something to bring to the table
If you are willing
This is for the ones who’s walls of strength
Are so thick
They can’t feel the touch
So it doesn’t have to hurt when they see you leaving
Press harder
Press until you hit the soft
Find something worth holding
You are worth holding
The game of tag and all its variations
Were just preparation
For the time you spend hiding your heart diligently
Until you see the joy in being found
Know
If you are reading this
I found you
Which means it’s your turn
To find someone else
I know it takes courage
To touch someone
In a world where no one touches
But you did it once when you were a kid
I know you have doubts
I have doubts
I don’t see in me any of the things people see in me
I own a mirror
I mean ****
I shave me
No one knows how ugly this mess gets better than I do
But *********
We have got to be found
Know this is the year you do everything right
Ask someone to dance
Show them how they’ve been swimming all wrong
In this sea of souls where everyone feels so lost
Even Christians have to find Jesus
A man who can only save them
After he is found
I challenge you
To write a letter to a stranger
Telling them you’ve secretly loved them
Remain anonymous
Only send one
Hold a door open for someone
Smile like you do when you read a message
From someone you care about
And don’t realize you’re doing it
Until one of your ******* friends asks why you’re smiling like that
Smiling is ****
I promise
Do stupid things every chance you get
You’ll become a good story teller
It will make you interesting
Shake the dust from your tired shield
Let your walls fall like the crumble was healthy
You do not need walls in wide open places
Know whatever you have been made to believe
You should always love like you’ve never been hurt
You should not be afraid to be hurt
Know
Love is yours
If you want it
Want it
I dare you
Tag
I found you
Now find someone else
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 1:13 PM UTC
I woke up this mornin’,
All wound-up, down in the deep,
Laid-back under the haystack half asleep,
When she pulled up
In her Cadillac, uh huh,
And pointed to the two pillows
In the back, uh huh.
But will she get to me?
We shall see.
Out behind the barn
We tore thru the broomcorn plots;
Then up in the loft,
She cut the tops of my bootstraps off;
But she fits the bill
All by herself, uh huh;
All nine-yards on
A five-foot shelf, uh huh.
But will she get to me?
We shall see.
When autumn has rolled
Past the summer’s fold,
If the line goes slack,
If the wheels won’t go,
‘Cause I’ve never cried,
Not when mother died,
Nor this mornin’
When you went away —— ——
Was it then?
Or was it yesterday?
I told her: “It’s not fair!
It despairs the spirit of man,
To give a slave to their fate
Just to pay them to slave on demand!”
Then she said to me
While she was fixin’ her hair, uh huh:
“Some loser’s always tryin’
To make the whole world fair,” uh huh.
But will she get to me?
We shall see.
When autumn has rolled
Past the summer’s fold,
If the line goes slack,
If the wheels won’t go,
‘Cause I’ve never cried,
Not when mother died,
Nor this mornin’
When you went away —— ——
Was it then?
Or was it yesterday?
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 7:48 PM UTC
Dear Diary,
As of today, I am officially a registered Republican
Now before you freak out, let me explain…
It’s finally happened!
I am in love! In love!
I can’t stop thinking about her…her rich auburn hair
Sensuous lips, smooth, silky voice…
She is an ambrosial goddess
Ahhhh just to say her name
Michelle…Michelle…
It’s because of her, I have become a Republican
Michelle has opened my eyes to so many things!
For instance, this country really was founded on Christian values!
Separation of church and state…that’s just crazy talk
Oh, and climate change? Forget about it!
But most importantly, Michelle helped me see that ALL lives matter
Michelle is very involved in her community
Why, just yesterday, we handed out boxes
Full of bootstraps to the poor
I gave my Birkenstocks
To Bernie Sanders…
Michelle says that nothing turns her on more than a man who wears crocs
And I am embarrassed to admit this….
I would only tell you, Diary
But She’s really into **** ***
Michelle says it’s not ****** if it’s a man and a woman
And with her husband’s gay conversion camps, she would know
Come to think of it,
Nothing is a sin for a Republican
As long as you don’t get caught
So, there you have it, I have abandoned my socialist and Jewish roots
Do I have regrets?
Well, maybe sometimes,
When Michelle talks about cutting veterans benefits
For a fleeting moment I recall how it felt
To take care of each other and to love people unconditionally
But then I think I sound like ******* flake
Twirling crystals and prisms or some stupid ****
I do like the idea of legalizing marijuana, though
But my change of heart and this whole Donald Trump thing is not my fault,
There are a limited number of seats open on this love train
I mean…
let’s be real, ok? Americans want epic battles and
Dad never smites people anymore,
Whatever happened to a good old fashioned smiting?
The way I see it, as long as Michelle doesn’t figure out that I am not white,
She and I are golden.
Anyway, thanks for listening diary,
I gotta go…Michelle and I are getting matching Jesus fish tattoos
I know, the irony, right?
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 10:46 AM UTC
My brother,
You are my brother. A man of bones and too many cigarette ashes lacing your lungs.
My brother,
We are a bond. One that got chewed up by the next door neighbors dog but is still his favorite toy.
My brother,
I am so sorry for the things I believe you can do.
My brother,
From the second she left I have been saving my water for the day you run dry.
My brother,
Drowning is not the cure.
My brother,
Distance can sometimes be the best thing for someone. It gives you perspective. And the further away something is the bigger you feel.
My brother,
Please, be my big brother. Be bigger as I go further.
My brother,
Let me crack your back. Stand up straight and look me in the eye. Wash this moment with the idea that we are water. Running through a valley of flash flood and we will overcome everything here.
My brother,
Take my hand. Let's snap this broken wishbone in half and make our own dreams come true. Let's become everything we thought we could be when we where five. Let's fight like tomorrow is waiting for us. Like mom, maybe like mom can hear us. Let's show her how much we truly love her.
My brother,
I know this is not easy. No one ever said it was. But pick up your bootstraps. I need you... My brother.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 2:14 PM UTC
Game face.
Ready, set, go.
Just another race.
Get ready, 'cause I'm set.
If I had bootstraps I'd be pickin' myself up.
Lying in the dirt can only last so long.
We all have dreams, but fear reaching out.
But now I'm running, breakneck pace.
Like a bat out of hell, this fire rages.
Motivation my friend, how long it has been.
Shake hands like time hasn't passed.
Ready, set, go.
Things to do, people to see.
Greatness and such to achieve.
Ready, set, go.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 3:11 AM UTC
Come an read my verdant mountains
the place Champlain
he named Verd Mont
where eons an eons
of ancestors,
beautifully now
how they still haunt,
Where the ever-greens
that stretch so tall
now blend in with the maple
where come here in the springtime flow the gold it is a staple,
My feet have roamed this earth so long
I know it in my heart
every road I travel down
I know from where I start,
My roots run deep here in these hills,
deeper than those trees can reach,
an deeper than their roots can go,
an I have much I've yet to teach,
About a life of perseverance
holding strong -to make your way,
you can do most anything,
just hear the words I always say,
We are stronger than we think,
we are a deep and endless well,
some where to find
to draw that strength,
to break the ugly haunting spell,
to find the bootstraps
hey i say now don't you dwell,
an I have many roads to go
and stories yet I know to tell,
Come in words -
to Vermont too,
to know this peace I know,
where mountains flow with aquifer,
as crystal waters ever flow,
Find a place where deer can run
and your heart can run there too,
where the sun so brightly shines,
and the skies are
always lovely ever- blue
Put your feet down somewhere nice
in mossy place or earthly loam
take a rest from where you walk,
in waters running,
mountain foam,
Wash your soul an spirit clean,
allow the sky above to share,
an listen to the fragrant breeze,
to how much so-
the leaves they care,
We are one as people here,
all things we are the snowflake- same,
appreciate the rare an "weird"
to not is such an awful shame,
Worn-out dogmas
an inconvenient truths,
to leave behind those old illusions
Learn to embrace your life again,
because without some wrong delusions,
We would never see as we do now-
as all good bad an indifferent things
serve a purpose -
go see
go an be.
Ma Cherie © 2017
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 1:46 PM UTC
I don't know.
I don't know what you're going through.
I can't understand.
Empathy, perhaps.
I won't be able to.
Your skin, unlike mine.
But it doesn't come down to simple color, does it?
It comes down to experience.
All I can share is a broken heart.
I can love you, but never fully understand.
I won't be able to understand.
We are different.
I'm here though. Here to support. Here to live with you.
I can't protect, but educate.
"Pull yourself up by your bootstraps"
The anthem of people who don't understand
But you showed up today. To better yourself.
Maybe one day we can truly work this out.
Until then, we can both do what we can
to create more beauty in this world.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 10:56 PM UTC
there is nothing more american than superman.
i know this, not born but raised in kansas.
at the movies, when the man of steel tells
the government agent that “ma’am he’s from kansas,”
the entire theatre starts applauding.
he is the only illegal alien people from kansas will ever clap for.
when i was little, my father used to tried convince me
that he was alien, just not an illegal one,
because, well, it was technically true.
he’s just like superman, really, a boy living in a world
that’s not quite his that he loves anyways.
white kids in my classes never laugh at that story
but i still think it’s pretty funny. white kids in my classes never
like a lot of things i keep talking about, writing about.
because they’re always talkin’ about bootstraps
like everyone is born with the same pair of shoes
and i can never stand that.
because america is not a dream, it’s a meritocracy.
i mean, superman, that’s why we love you, right?
you’re the best and we only like things that are different
when they are cutting edge, bodies sharp
but not knife blades, nothing too lethal.
the reason we should allow immigrants in the country is
because of how they stimulate the economy,
the reason we should fund public education
is to keep kids “off the streets,”
the reason we should stop burning our planet alive
is because we have nowhere else to go,
the reason we should care about another person is always
bound to how they affect us. and i’m tired of penning arguments,
aiming to teach people how grow empathy a few years too late.
stop talking about my people like they’re dollar signs,
like we’re only worth our output. you like us when we’re superman,
sob stories to success stories, model minorities.
but you hate us when we take up too much space.
you hate us when we’re too angry or too loud or too comfortable.
you like us grateful, don’t want us to ever ask for more.
can all our american dreams live at the same time?
or are they pack of cannibals, eating each other out of existence?
does a dead boy in kansas mean the same to you
as a dead boy in syria? do you cry for him in the same way,
is his body just as heavy in his mother’s arms?
riddle me this, if a body falls hard against the concrete
and his murderers walk around as if they are not murderers
then does it make a sound?
how much is it worth?
how much is it worth?
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 11:37 PM UTC
A Baby-Boomer walks so freely through the town
he pays no mind to those suffering around
“Why don’t poor people just get jobs,”
he asks himself,
“And stop bellyaching?
And women need to shut their mouths and stop complaining
the wage gap is a fallacy
they invented to work less.
trust me I am a man who would understand the oppressed,
a man who has always been gainfully employed,
in fact if you ask me I am simply annoyed
that others dare to call me privileged
just because I can afford more than they do
(well that and the fact that because of my face
I can be sure that I will not be chased
by the police unrightfully
or a strange man most frighteningly).”
He walks alone in the darks of night
and yet his bones do not creak with fright
for he knows the world respects his white skin,
his wife, and the money he keeps only for him.
On his wall hangs a college degree
he got from a school in 1983
“I don’t understand why the millennials are such whiners
pull yourself up by your bootstraps while you’re still minors,
yes we ruined the economy, but it’s not that hard
if you just stop focussing on being so avant-garde
and get a job, who do you think you are?
Just kids trying their best to be what they are?
Disgusting excuse,
sell your soul to businesses,
it’s what Reagan would do.”
As he puts his money to bed at night
in the house he bought when the market was still alright
he wonders why kids these days
seem so tired and hungry for praise.
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
Guys like us don't get breaks
with our unshaven faces and manky hair and eyeliner.
Our work-torn jeans colorful tattoos and pierced lips a warning,
Aposematism in human form.
Guys like us don't get breaks
We claw and drag our way not to the top,
but to the surface.
Ain't got no daddy's money.
Ain't got no daddy, or wish we didn't
cause he comes home
talking 'bout how he didn't raise no ******
(He didn't raise nobody).
Guys like us don't get breaks.
Nothing but mildewy rooms
McDonalds for dinner washed
down with cheap *****
Another Thank you for applying but...
Rent due the 24th.
alone at night again.
Guys like us don't get breaks.
Apr 20, 2022
Apr 20, 2022 at 2:41 PM UTC
do you remember that time i had a stomachache and you stayed up all night with me, drawing pictures on a pizza box? or the time tried we to skip rocks and mine would always just sink, sink, sink to the bottom and oh, how retrospectively that irony is killing me. i’d count my summer freckles and we’d try to count your always freckles but it was endless just like the dysphoria catching myself right before i fall. always, me. i’m sorry that i always use the wrong words, and i am sorry that i can’t always pull myself up by my bootstraps. and i’m even sorrier that i can only stutter paradoxes at the most cardinal of moments. instead of lub-dubbing my heart is singing that bittersweet symphony out of tune and it seems a little silly that it all happens like this. and it seems even sillier that i rub these things onto my skin like you’d rub the engraving of a tombstone, to remember that they disappeared but they’ll always haunt you.
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 10:52 PM UTC