Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Claire Collins Mar 2014
i will need two good memories
and a bad one
i have a magic disappearing act
a left handed shaman
an ugly critic who sits alone with no electric
i have metaphors for *******

i have lower case egos
and
i don't got time for yours
i have a riot in my mind
a revolution on my fingertips
it exists
in the spaces  i quit/like deadbeat dads
leave fingerprints


misplaced and misguided daughters; let's run so fast the stars call us light

speed, like we don't need amphetamines

We have our own disappearing act
starts in the bones
starves you to marrow

The smaller we get the less you react

so we take up too much space, we elbow, we pose, we leave livingrooms and bedrooms and kitchens and killing time jobs, we leave jaws on floor, we leave sand in mouths, we no map, we motherless, we huge, we funeral black, we native land, we penny talk, we memory, we instinct, we stream, we bleed, we walk

don't follow
leave no trail

this is the third act

we need you back for curtain call
Fah Feb 2015
Responsibility is so rare in those who leak their oily fingers across rivers and into bloodstreams, toxic waste never tasted as good as refined sugars.

Some people find themselves desperate.
That’s what happens when the community is run on decision
fueled by fear.
It murders the capacity to react
whilst exposing all of the soft, fleshy bits that constitute a human.

Oh yes,
split dinosaur bones and acid poured on a young woman’s face in North London are connected.
Lacerations of the largest mine in the world cut across the face of earth like another young woman who could not pay a sufficient dowry.
Oh yes those two events are connected.

To the men who sign the papers or wield the knife or pour the acid your payment is also desolation
your eyes will also be blinded and your face scared,
the trauma will live on inside of you as you see earth mother dug out,
kilo by kilo

You have silenced the very thing that makes you alive.
Oh yes.

The current schooling system of sit down, ask permission, don’t be late or I will hurt you in some way is connected to those men and their disassociation with their humanity.

It is connected to the women who can not love themselves and apologize for every moment of their existence not in words but in actions and not in actions but beliefs and not in beliefs but in pure, boiling hatred of being a woman because since the time of classic antiquity men have been hating the mother.

Oh yes,
the sugar and chemicals added to our diets combined with pharmaceutical money oriented ideology
year after year
are connected with every case of suicide, every act of homicide every police brutality every bill passed by a man who thinks the womb can be accessed through the stomach.

These events that are the cornerstones of our current society
hold a space that allows and encourages the greediest, meanest
most scheming parts of us to surface, dusted in powdered sugar and sing hallelujah.

It relies on the desensitized laziness of ourselves, it relies on us to keep on believing.

A red string ties these events together and they are destined to meet again and again in livingrooms and in courtrooms, boardrooms and massacres, rapes and violent deaths
At the hands of each other until we stop murdering our own humanity for the sake of an award, the sake of being accepted.

We all have Stockholm’s syndrome.

These institutions and companies are not friends, our captors in the forms of insensitive executions or laws against one another are not our saviors
The people who are making decisions over vast swathes of mother earth land are not our gods who wish to give us sunshine seen on the side of a truck advertisement.

But it may just be our saving grace
our empathy and compassion
fuel to our desires of seeing the world left to future generations
with some dignity
love the mistakes we've made as humans, thank them
for their teachings
and evolve.


These are the strings that bind us together.
( And you think you are not important? You think you make no difference? We are hand cranking the wheels of time over here .)

— The End —