"qualifications" poems
**No Justice, No Peace
If we can't get it from the Court
then we'll take it from the Streets
No Justice, No Peace
**** the Police
and what you believe!**
Whatever happened to Revolution
Being the American way?
When your voice remains unheard
For which you suffer every day,
Your life is constantly stepped on,
Your rights keep getting taken away,
And in spite of the lies they spin to protect your oppressors,
You still keep the rage at bay
Because you are not
Above the Law
and neither is anyone else.
So taking matters into your own hands
Isn't going to help.
You entrust the justice system
to do what it's supposed to
Even though you know it never has
and is probably never going to.
But if you haven't done anything wrong and the Law doesn't serve you,
and only seems to defend the people who've already hurt you,
then honestly I think it's insane and completely absurd to
not only expect the People not to react,
but to honor a curfew.
**** YOU**
Do you hear us yet?
**** YOU**
Oh, it's inappropriate?
You don't wanna talk about it?
You don't wanna think about it?
You don't wanna deal with it?
Well guess what?
Nobody ******* does, nobody ******* would, nobody ever ******* could.
But for the people who don't look like you -
Aryan Beauty Standards
Hair of Gold, Eyes of Blue
Fair-skinned, light-skinned
European skeleton,
It was never a choice they had.
Oppression doesn't pick you
Based on qualifications
Any more than Privilege does,
If you think this case
Is not about race
You better check your Privilege, cuz.
I love my home, America
But I hate what it's become
Land of the greedy, home of the afraid
Kingdom of the Loud and Dumb
Slut-shaming, victim-blaming, race-hating, race-baiting
Sensationalization of the worst crimes in the nation
Religious intolerance, homophobic misogyny, blatant racial discrimination
Can't get with it, can't hang
At least not in the lynch mob sense
I am blown the **** away
at the grievous absence of common sense.
So when they lit those flags on fire
in the center of the town
*I understand, and I can't blame them
the flag is truer up in flames now*
And if they so decide to burn
the city to the ground,
*I understand, and I can't blame them
I would wanna burn it down*
**No Justice, No Peace
If we can't get it from the Court
then we'll take it from the Streets
No Justice, No Peace
**** the Police
and **** your Beliefs!**
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
when a bunch of old Senate men
and some intimidated women
voted to heave
an accused ******
and proven liar with an alcohol problem
given to irascible outbursts, fits of self-pity
and insulting comments on women
into a lifelong seat on the highest court in the nation
against voluminous evidence of his lacking qualifications
the statue of the Goddess of Justice
whom a former attorney general
had all covered up in blue cloth
dropped her sword and scales
tore off her blindfold
and covered her naked ******* in shame
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 2:07 PM UTC
“Exams are important don’t let anyone try to convince you otherwise. People will try telling you that they don’t matter in the great scheme of things
“There is more to life than exams Lisa. It isn’t the end of the world if you don’t obtain the grades to get into university” mum said.
This is all ******** I’ve no intention of spending my life flipping burgers in some crummy burger bar. Do you know they have the cheek to call these places restaurants?! Problem is strictly between you and I, you won’t let it go any further will you? Promise, cross your heart and hope to die? Well as you only have my first name and it would be impossible to trace me I’ll let you into a little secret. The truth is that I am not academically gifted. Don’t get me wrong I try. No one tries harder than me. I’ve spent weekends huddled over my books cramming for my exams, “Lisa no mates that’s me” but it goes in one ear and comes out the other. I just can’t remember things, head like a sieve thats me!
Well here I am now in my room at uni. You should have seen my mum’s face when I got the grades. There she stood her mouth gaping open like a stranded fish. Quite comical really. Did I say that all my hard work paid off? Well it wasn’t that difficult for an 18-year-old bomb shell like me to ****** the head master and get my hands on the exam papers prior to the examination. Perhaps academic qualifications aren’t everything after all”.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
Redemption
The longer that you are with someone the more memories you collect.
Blowing the mind kills the membrane by making them explode.
Bursting through the wall making my memories.
I have been running all over.
Just bounce.
Time is running out I am about to explode.
Dumbstruck walking through the door making our memories.
Restrictions will be by passed.
Your door to your heart will be broken and blown away.
All I can do is get ready to explode.
All my memories will be gone, but tell me you won't forget me in your memories.
Old friends became my new friends.
Busting through the door trying to run around in circles.
I always thought I was to bold to save you.
All I want to do is chill out, but the flames to hell are burning me.
I want a ride to civilization, but the only ride I get is a ride to death.
I try and catch myself, but it is always too late.
My memories will be gone and so will you.
My memories our memories.
A pool of blood will separate us.
I don't want to be left alone in the dark.
I won't back down from my memories.
I'll be confessing on the sins of my life when you leave me.
I am the background when you have no one.
I won't get in the way.
I won't surrender until you leave me.
I will never leave my memories until I am dead.
When I need to know my fears I look in the mirror.
The qualifications you gave to me to keep you I will keep until I die I said, but you left me dead.
Nothing exist without the power of love and hatred.
I put all my growing pains aside to see my memories again.
My strange growing pains have killed the people I loved and the things I loved.
We all have the growing pains but God brings growth through are pain.
Revenge I heard of you.
I used to hold a grudge against you.
I use to trip over it.
I used to be young asking all them questions.
I am sorry for putting the blame on you.
It was my fault.
Trying to find myself it was so hard.
I can’t explain the pain that I felt, and I can't imagine what kind of fear and pain all this stuff put you through I am sorry.
The new man is supported by the memories of you being there for me.
The memories I hold are mine and your forever.
You are looking at someone who just died and came back to life.
If it wasn't for you I would be dead still.
All my mercy forgive me.
For if you still leave me I will be here confessing on the sins of my life.
For the memories of you are forever with me now.
The identity that I had wasn't me, I don't know who that was.
I am not you, but I really am sorry for dying and almost losing all my memories of you.
Until then I will be confessing on all my sins in life.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
The listening stopped a while ago.
It’s like the monotonous sounds spewing from your mouth just didn’t meet the qualifications of entering my ears.
It wasn’t always like that, though.
You used to deliver information to my being like you were the great Giving Tree.
And I was a nearby flower.
A delicate, nearby flower.
A flower that went about its normal routines, such as photosynthesis or pollination or other flower things.
Ah, those flower things.
To me they are everything.
This flower would blossom in the spring and wither in the winter.
I would spend my flower days in the summer breathing in the glowing sunlight and living my flower life.
And in the fall, I would spend my flower nights rocking in the breeze, waiting for winter to come and bring me my renewal period.
I would look with my flower eyes toward you, the great Giving Tree.
Tall and ***** like the unstoppable force.
And I, there on the ground, the immovable object.
Your knowledge was so delightful at first.
It lit up my surrounding flower world more than the Sun ever could.
Your knowledge would come at all hours of the day, no matter rain or shine.
I remember once a long time ago when I was a little, tiny flower.
It was raining on my little tiny flower head.
But you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
The rain that would beat pitter-patter on my pedals.
The water that would run down my stem.
You with your knowledge would tell me “Soak up the water my son. You need as much as you can hold.”
And I did just what you said.
Because I knew you were an unstoppable force, and could never be wrong.
And I, as the immovable object, would never let something stop me.
And then there was the time when I was an older, bigger flower.
The Sun was shining on my older, bigger flower head.
And you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
The sunlight that shine zig-zag on my pedals.
The shadow that would cast from my stem.
You with your knowledge would tell me “Soak in the sunlight my son. You need as much as you can hold.”
And I did just what you said.
Because I knew you were an unstoppable force, and could never be wrong.
And I, as the immovable object, would never let something stop me.
But now I am a current, normal flower.
The world is passing by my current, normal flower head.
And you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
You with your knowledge….
Said nothing to me, your son.
I didn’t know what to take in.
So I did just what you didn’t say.
And I just kept watching the world float by you, great Giving Tree.
You, the unstoppable force.
And I just kept watching the world float by me, the delicate flower.
Me, the immovable object.
And for the rest of our days you said nothing to me.
You don’t pass your knowledge to me, your delicate flower son.
Your immovable object.
And I stop listening to you, my great Giving Tree.
My unstoppable force.
The monotonous sounds spewing from your mouth just don’t meet the qualifications of entering my ears anymore.
The relationship we had has faded away.
But I had a feeling neither of us would win when we first met.
“Because you know what happens when the unstoppable force meets the immovable object.”
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC
I feel like my brain has put an ad block on emotion
And when I try to reach out for you I see a pop up warning me that No! This function cannot be accessed whilst an Ad Block is in use.
So, I try to uninstall and reset the browser but I wake up just the same.
An empty shell of technology, faulty wiring falling into the hands of those without the qualifications to find the on-switch.
A brain both in standby and overworking, an overheating of wired vessels working overtime to provide life to a barely-functional heart.
The quiet murmur of my breathing the only reminder that there is still something behind the blank screen.
You try to keep your patience but I know you want to just throw me to the wall, an excuse to replace my shattered interface with the newest model.
A model that doesn’t feel like it takes them 3 years to get out of bed every morning, a model that doesn’t seem to contract a new virus every day.
Maybe I’m just tired, maybe I’ve run my course, maybe I’ve accidentally encountered malware. Maybe I am the malware.
Or maybe, my brain has put an Ad Block on emotion.
And when I try to reach out for you I see a pop up warning me that No! This function cannot be accessed whilst an Ad Block is in use.
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 12:26 PM UTC
step one: find someone with the correct qualifications. make sure he has taken the correct courses and has credentials.
step two: if your lawyer has a double major in medicine, run away.
step three: he is a person, not a house. do not treat him as such. don’t begin to use his bones as beams and his heart as a generator.
step four: you are a person, and just because you have legal issues doesn’t take away from that statement. you are a person, not a project. make sure your lawyer realizes this too.
step five: if he tries to fix you, run away. go back to step one and pay extra attention to step two.
step six: doctors are bad news. stay away from them at all costs, even if they are a good lawyer too.
step seven: don’t try to fix him either, even if he needs the help. he needs the help, but he’ll never actually accept it.
step eight: he’s just a boy. not an angel, not a superhero, not a saviour, not a lawyer, not a doctor, not a repairman.
step nine: he is not a song. don’t make him a song. he is not a song. don’t compare him to “broken crown” by mumford and sons or “ice” by lights.
step ten: if you need legal advice, a professional works but ultimately a convicted girl is the best advice.
step eleven: whatever you do, don’t hurt him because you’re afraid of being hurt.
step twelve: don’t give him your sharps. save yourself. you don’t need him.
step thirteen: don’t **** yourself because he doesn’t care.
step fourteen: he cares.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 9:07 AM UTC
Things unspeakable,
like a river meandering,
surge in my soul,
calls out to me,
inspires my mind with
intriguing force.
Afflatus of the cosmic
impressed with love
enough to be true
caressed my whole
being with power
to dare to do
the impossible.
This impression of
what is inside
my being cannot
be fathomed.
The beauty of the
spirit engulfed
my soul.
Nurtured by grace
and infinite power,
emboldened by
the influence
of love divine to
heal the afflicted.
And now I possessed
the dynamic incredible
unction to influence
and affect my world.
All these are possible
because of grace.
More grace has
been given to excel.
Be thankful and receive it.
Rejoice and be grateful for
the glorious treasures available.
When grace speaks
qualifications dies.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 4:09 PM UTC
Descriptive words could not say enough,
Informing you without any expectations,
A simple need to express the damage,
Of not meeting your qualifications.
You're ignorance; both gift and curse,
False belief from your deception,
Subsequent pain leading to anger,
Infiltrated like an infection.
Valuable lessons learned from you --
Benefit of the doubt should not be given,
Further regret seeped into life,
Now that my demons have arisen.
Plunging into bitter sweet weakness,
A temptation I could not resist,
Pathetic attempt at leaving flesh,
As the blade split open the wrist.
Consumed at my loneliest moment,
Tired of giving without receiving,
Defeated by my persistent demons,
Manipulated by thoughts of relieving.
Perception changes with reality,
Enlightened by harsh, clear thoughts,
A choice to no longer be controlled,
Thus, the day that I fought.
Strong desires to be able to forget,
Lips softly speaking lies after lies,
Though admittance was not achievable,
The truth came from your eyes.
Care was not something of existence,
Simply sheets and pillows,
Know that in the end it will be you,
as sad as the leaves of a weeping willow.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
No time to rest
Destination happiness
Qualifications standout
Society sees magicians
Rise above the haters
A new day to smile
Wear the shoe that fits
Millions have walk the mile
Oct 27, 2009
Oct 27, 2009 at 7:07 PM UTC
I have a life experience to share.
I don't know if you would care.
In the last unforgettable year,
I applied for FSW/Federal Skilled Worker
Immigration Program in Canada.
Unfortunately,
I've already reached the said quota.
I was denied for my dream visa.
Though I was qualified to apply,
I was refused for two simple reasons:
"No current employer and Ph.D. degree."
My self-esteem got very low,
I didn't know what to do
Because I have nothing to show
To my friends who kept asking me.
So it's time to break my silence.
I told them what happened
And they have felt sorry for me.
My wife has lost her self-confidence
But I told her to never give up
Even though I was hurting inside.
On this coming May 4, 2013,
CIC offices will accept FSW applications.
Though I've the necessary qualifications,
I don't know if I will ever apply again
Because I still have the unbearable pain.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 12:16 PM UTC
The Lung.
The broken bone branches hang heavy off knuckled tree. As cold and uninviting as wrapped meat in cellophane prison cells and those sweating milk bottles left on doorsteps. Women cry with the blackbirds as day breaks, rousing their reluctant nests.
As the shadows trawl in from chicken farms and slaughterhouses, across the squalid estates and past a debt collectors party. A ***** drinks his soot like coffee and waits for another years tide to retreat. Holding pith less ambitions and unmentionable qualifications, stewardess pass, uniformed thoughts and averting faces..
The rusty playgrounds sink into the fermenting wood chips, and a plastic bag runs through the scene; only to commit suicide in the oil ribbon canal. The chemical clouds thicken into a duvet of sky whilst arrows of a natural sun run home with tears of fear on their hot faces.
Down here the street lights flicker, and the patched uniforms drape off children sick with the flu that hit the school like a plague. Herding like cattle into the classrooms, to learn about the natural world
that is most unearthly to there reason.
Lunch bells ring from factories and the sky has drained to a sick -off white. The chip shop sells butties with no sauce nor bun, which machine like men guzzle and slurp.
The car parks lay stagnant in the distance and pigeons too fat to fly lay droppings on the bronze statue of a crying hero. As the roaring stops from the factories and high visibility coats are hung, the sky bruises and the men fill the pubs, until wives with children hung on washing lines drag there sweat soaked frames to the table, only to indulge them in a row.
Night creeps in, bringing with it the hooded figures that flutter along the streets. Music plays from a vacant building and seems to brighten the night.
A silhouette is seen standing on the edge, watching the busses bellow run like migrating snails, filled with the elderly and too young.
Cigarettes infest the streets creating a carpet of ash and litter. The city survives, remaining grey, never blinking, never heard.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 6:20 AM UTC
Teenagers write poems about sadness
And I diagnose
Drain false narcissistic depth
I choose to diagnose
Girls that moan about darkness
I can try emphasize
At a therapeutic distance
Walls rather a leather settee
Cry me your conjured problems
The attention that you desperately need
Hug into my
False intellectual façade
You want your name in lights
Rose-colored perception
Of a overused typecast
Your sadness poetic and bottomless
Caught in the flight
Spotlight
That you cannot bear
Insipid perpetuity
Whining and moaning and whining
Life in hard and it is not fair
I’ve seen it all before
But should I sit
Put myself high on a pedestal
Satisfied with my own scholarly ruse
What I lack in qualifications
I make up in apathy
You wear a different coat
You messy attention grabbing
Poetically distraught
Attracted to the next sparkly thing
That will make you more interesting
You magpie, you lemming, you
I will hold your hand if you hold mine
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
Part 1
"How about some long beautiful hair" the Santa says
The little girl rubs her head bald and veiny
She looks like a baseball
"No. It doesn't get in my eyes anymore when I play basketball" she says
The bunch of us
Sunken eyed and balding
In wheelchairs and on crutches
Some of us holding our I.V. stands for support
I can only imagine how the Santa feels
The tiniest zombies
All waiting for a turn
Me
I have silver caps on my top front teeth
And dentures
Look like an old Cadillac
Insides all rust and rumble
We all want to know if we were good this year
Part 2
Cut to the bunch of us
Watching the Blue Angels air show
All getting pictures with a man dressed as Shamu
He is supposed to write something on the backs of all the pictures
I try to imagine
What you could possibly write
To a group of kids that looked like us
Each photo
In shaky black ink
Because whales aren’t prehensile
He writes
I love you
Part3
When the circus came to the hospital
We all gathered on a balcony
The news was there
Clowns painted our faces
I asked if they had room for me
Told them I could be like that guy
From the 007 movies
With the silver teeth that could bite really big stuff
They said I might miss my folks
I told them I wouldn’t
Then took off my gown
To show them my scars
They weren’t impressed
Ever since I’ve wanted to join the circus
Part 4
Despite our qualifications
We could not join the circus
But that is okay
All we wanted really
Was to know if we were good
And that somebody loved us
We were
And somebody did
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 11:26 PM UTC
We differ in our bodies.
We differ in our shapes, our sizes.
We differ in our race, our religion.
We differ in our color, our language.
We differ in our qualifications, our occupations.
We are different.
We differ by all means.
Yet we are all the same.
We smile alike, breathe alike and feel alike.
Our hearts beat in the same rhythm.
Our beauty lies skin deep.
We differ in everything yet we are all the same.
Bonded by the same emotions, born out of love.
Our strength infinite, our souls unburned.
We are capable of love, war and everything in between.
So stand united, cease every **** day.
Together let’s show the world how to make each day Our day.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 2:53 AM UTC
Sub-zero temperatures aren't conducive to photosynthesis
chlorophyll stuck in veins
freezing and thick, viscous
right-o
tips **** and ****
try to circulate nutrients
but nature cannot be altered
facts cannot be opinionated
tell that to the judge
small claims and chain gangs
game changing fame slanger
falling to the feet of the tall
once and for all
can't just sit and wait
procreate
at least **********
when all else fails
and it will
at least there are the simple pleasures
of air and light and sound
all around
and heightend senses of reality
and *******
and laughs, smiles
miles and miles
swimming in confusion
just want a touch
isn't too much
for a night on the town
lost, never found
alone in the dark
with another
not too long
just too right.
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 1:13 AM UTC
While I sit and wait for a job I think why isn't anything
coming for me yet? Is it because of my qualifications, or is it the
great depression of 2010? What is it that is making me frustrated?
Is it the fact that I was beaten by a better canadiate? Or am I overstepping my qualifications? Whatever it is, I am frustrated right now.
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 12:29 PM UTC
I've had bad days for as long as I can remember,
Anxiety, loneliness and depression swirling in my head.
(You might think loneliness and depression are the same but that's not true, loneliness is just a SYMPTOM of depression)
I used to have good days,
Light,
Days,
Where it didn't hurt as much,
Any more,
But these bad days come back,
And the came,
And they stayed,
For weeks at a time,
Anxiety had me mumbling,
"I'm fine"'s
(The actual act of being 'fine' is something I've never had the privilege of experiencing)
I got so many bad days,
My therapist,
(Along with my mother)
Tried to convince me they weren't,
ALL bad.
So,
I'm depressed, turned into:
The weather,
And, I'm alone,
Turned into:
Call your friends!
And,
I'm suicidal,
Turned into:
Philosophical.
I don't think you understand...
That this plan,
Of telling me my feelings aren't real,
Or that I shouldn't feel what I feel when I'm feeling it.
Isn't helping me,
Or saving me.
Because I remember being 12,
In an emergency room,
With death on my mind,
And burns on my wrist,
Being told,
I couldn't be admitted to a mental ward,
Because they only accept 13 year olds,
That, the qualifications,
Where there,
That I wanted to die,
But You were,
Just to young,
To be feeling,
What you were feeling,
When you were feeling it.
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 11:02 PM UTC
To whom it may concern;
As I watch you from afar,
It seems your mental living conditions have become poor.
While the paint on your house seems new,
the garden, gently cared for
and your front porch, freshly swept
all of the rooms in your house are a mess.
The foyer,
which once invited large storms of crowds
and your master suite;
the most lavish room in the entire house
are covered in trash, half-empty bottles,
and what i can only surmise
as a deep depression in the walls and floor
But your attic, whereby
you store your most valuable treasures
thought,
wisdom
beauty
appears to have grown dark
and now neither dark basement nor top floor
can be told apart
so dear,
i write you this, to speak of my qualifications
my abilities, as a household repairman
though i may not hold any formal degree,
please,
see my references,
as quite soon, i would love to get to work
and teach you
to rebuild your home
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 3:57 AM UTC
It's all been soiled like some overused sponge stinking of mildew and the precise antithesis of the cleanliness it was meant to produce.
It took but a second for my overly-romanticized secret affair to be shoved into the bottom of the garbage disposal and minced over and over by the thunderous roar and bite in the throat of the sink, and *good ******* lord* I felt every grind and tear slicing up my entrails and leaving me gutted and panicked on the kitchen floor.
This is why he, and every other precious charm sparkling in the trove of my heart belong locked away in a safe and hence buried at the deepest trench that can thus even only be located by the swiftest of explorers.
I should have known you to surpass qualifications in navigating the turbulence (there be none for you, probably, anyway) and disarray that is the ever-winding contour of halls and trap-doors within the chambers of my heart.
You're too sly to just float along the surface to the tempo of my shallow praises in that scarlet inner tube and work on your tan from the UV Rays emanating from the warmth of my I am happy smiles,
No, you're unsatisfied lest you've overturned every lingering mystery and lighted the sad, empty shadows that I had humbly darkened so to preserve the pathetic weaknesses and guilty pleasures that I hide inside them.
I'm sad that you think that with that necessary darkness comes malice, because I've never had an honest evil wish for even the scaliest of serpents.
But now you know that for yourself, and you knowing is the same as five billion men and women hearing and seeing and discovering at last the very unremarkable and demeaning secrets of my heart.
I'm going to try to be okay with this, so all the while please,
if you can manage,
try to be okay with me and my "lie".
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 2:48 AM UTC
It’s like when you’re little
And you notice yourself breathing
And wonder if you’ve been breathing this whole time
Or if it only happens when you think about it
Well, I’ve been thinking much too hard for a long time
So hard that I didn’t notice
The world forming a routine around me
And my unconscious willingness to fall in line
The girl who shunned the lemmings
Followed the crowd all the same
I considered myself a product of anxiety
Not a victim
Not a survivor
But the result of
Someone who thrived on frenetic energy
As worries danced out a stuttering tachycardia
This is the life I was given
Though I prayed for days of calm
Prayed for the safety of routine and predictability
And the comfort they would hold
For I am afraid of nearly everything
So I have been wishing for days without fear
Bowed my head under the Heavens and cried in all the languages I have
Peace, paix, ειρηνη
It was in the pursuit of peace
That I blindly accepted all offers of security
Built myself up with grades and responsibilities and qualifications
With the assurance it would be worth it in the long run
Suddenly I saw the boredom I had asked for
And felt no relief
No comfort
Just the paralyzing fear that I’d settled for a life I did not want
My trembling limbs were made for anxiety
But I’ve been bingeing it
So the lack thereof is just
Empty
It would seem I am addicted to frenzy
Though I always want out
A pendulum between the extremes
Never resting on moderation
Never resting
Period
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 11:38 PM UTC
my soul was black hanging on a graffitti fence
down by the corner street
where crack and needles punctuated the alleyway
with no hope.
brother hid from brother
and sisters wore mini mini mini skirts
to draw the danger from the honking cars
into the pool of light cast by the one surviving
bulb
on a lamp post of desolation
he had slick hair and sharp notches
on his belt, danging chains
that reminded him of time inside
the dungeons where he gained
his qualifications in years behind
the bars of justice.
Out on the street, it was mayhem
a blue car siren-ed off into the distance
careened across the road
and vanished into upper class society
where they ate pink cakes and sipped herbal teas
as morning cleaned the streets of darkness
the sunshine grew the window sill
stacked with marijuana.
It was just another day to be alive.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 11 days ago
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
Here within these walls
We are taught the tools for life
To live it, survive it,
To thrive in a world full of guise.
But
See
People think that here the learning's based on grades
That books and pencils dominate our lives.
But in a world small as a spinning globe,
We learn more important things.
Lessons go untested, uncharted, unacknowledged.
Here and now
We learn what stays burned into our brains
Etched into our thoughts
Lesson's we'll never ever forget
So drilled and memorized are they.
And that is why we want to leave.
To run.
To forget.
Here we learn the unendurable lessons that our lives revolve around.
We learn to love, we learn to lose,
We learn to be used and to act to perfection.
We learn to suffer, we learn to hate, we learn to feel jealousy
And shame
And fear.
We learn that in a world as small as this
One person can turn the sky black, or blue.
One person can bruise the soul.
We learn to take our hurting seriously
No matter what small thing has dredged it up.
We learn to endure, to go on, to give up, to play dead, to play alive,
And oh, god, do we learn to wait.
For the day we might be at least an inch removed from our teachers.
For our truest teachers in high school have no degrees,
No qualifications.
The most important teachers we will ever meet
Have nothing whatsoever to do with grades.
They teach you that
You can't leave
You can't hide
You can't run
You can't try
They teach humiliation and obsession and seduction and depression.
In twenty years, when somebody asks me what I learned in high school,
I cannot be sure that the first thing I say will be
Mathscienceenglishgeographyfrench
I cannot be sure that the words won't fall from my lips
Before I can reel them back in-
Even years hence-
"In high school, I learned how to bleed."
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 9:45 PM UTC