This is a poem I wrote a while-while back…
It’s loud and I need to think for a while. For a while I shall do family things. And I will probably write a song, just for me.
I’m tired of the noisy-noiseMcnoise. It’s too much stimulation. “I’m sensitive and I’d like to stay that way.” (JK)
People living comfortably
under their little glass ceilings
will never leave their houses;
that’s what you’ve got me feeling.
I’ll never leave; you’ve got me boxed in
– oh yes im trapped in
your encampment, basically.
Fact o’ the matter?
it’s a glass roof that won’t shatter with the hardest stone
I was almost okay with who i had become
But i know i am am not chosen because i’m standing awkward; and i’m kind of funny to point at
when they don’t wanna blame the folks at home.
You’ve won of course
My breathing has flown far
It’s sucked life from the earth under my feet
My resolve has become this
hot little acorn of hidden hatred
I nuture inside me
You’ve won both battle and war
Can I find a way to rebuild my country?
make the poor eat again
make the summer turn to fall and the good things grow ..?
Well that’s debatable
The bible blames cain
and the cains will blame eve
and eve blames the snake
and the snake blames her mate
the one with his thumbs in the pie
on the decorative plate
rummaging round for the fruits
the fruits, the fruits
which should never’ve been baked
Did you know about this
when I asked you to dance?
when I asked for your hat?
were you sizin’ it up?
Did you know about that?
Writing songs of kings and queens
to people who think they’re royalty
I think –
Who does these things? These thnigs you do …
Who cares?! You aren’t listening.
Ten or twenty songs and thirty dances humble pie and thirty blackbirds –
1 awful week and;
at the 11th hour
no one’s paying me
to think. I think you’re missing
a few screws
that would tell you
who you used to be –
Who does these things? These things you do …
Unspeakable embarassing things; things the bourgeois princesses and princes of some creepy monarchy would do
Who does these things? These things you do; you do
these things so casually, like I’m part of something …
A king that’s coming on the wings of glory – yeah he’s often painted up to look like you.
If you were me you would leave forever, too.