"unpeople" poems
"Somewhere", spoke the grey lips in the wall.
Somewhere before sunrise,
before the first bird crows to dawn
and the apathetic are yet to uncurl
the grit that gathers like dust
between the fold of shallow eyes.
"Somewhere". A derogatory term.
Their humanity bears no resemblance to us
as skin and bone the only price to pay
for "unpeople".
Cities made of paper,
soaked in a drought. Somewhere East.
Or maybe South?
Somewhere far from the guilt
that laden our stomach with lead.
So alien to home, allotted just enough frames
for you to feel how fortuitous;
but not enough so the screams
swallow your evening meal and you swat the sound of flies
pouring through the static of your transient box.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 7:27 AM UTC
i'm a product of capitalism.
my momma shoulda known better,
there's no reward for social reproduction,
i'm a bad investment
and my history attest to that
and my trajectory is already set to a certain degree
for freedom demands strength and bravery
but i'm running deficits in those sectors.
and i often question if it's too late
for course correction.
i'm inauthentic.
crises are endemic to my life cycle.
i exhale pollution.
i feed off my own festering flesh.
i'm a breeding ground of oppression.
a tendency to lie to myself: austerity is the answer.
the competition is killing me;
when pressure doesn't make diamonds it intensifies violence.
my breath left when my father moved his assets offshore.
i'm poor, sordid and a parasite to the core.
my bread was plundered from unpeople in the name of a privilege i never asked for.
tell myself problems can be solved through purchase.
i'm stressed and spent and i can't pay my debts.
my passions arrested, i can't confess: looking for the door.
i'm not sure the least worst of all systems is worth it any more.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
"Somewhere", spoke the grey lips in the wall.
Somewhere before sunrise,
before the first bird crows to dawn
and the apathetic are yet to uncurl
the grit that gathers like dust
between the folds of shallow eyes.
"Somewhere". A derogatory term.
Their humanity bears no resemblance to us
as skin and bone the only price to pay
for "unpeople".
Cities made of paper,
soaked in a drought. Somewhere East.
Or maybe South? Somewhere far off relevant,
so alien to home, allotted just enough frames
for you to feel how fortuitous;
but not enough so the screams
swallow your evening meal and you swat the sound of flies
pouring through the static of your transient box.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 5:51 AM UTC