stop trying to change the world; change yourself first.
oh, i take those words back. those lines were rehearsed.
still, i wish you'd get over this manic state
to change everyone and everything, it's much too late.
or maybe it isn't.
maybe it's different.
maybe you're crazy, a bipolar freak
who estranges, and changes his mood every week.
every day every hour every second who knows
whether 'you' talks in poetry or 'you' talks in prose.
or perhaps this isn't a mania of sorts,
of accusatory lines and witty retorts.
perhaps this is you, you talking to me
you talking to him, you talking to she.
eager and desperate
to prove you've the best wit.
i'm tired of this rhyme shit,
but don't want to stop. hear that pop?
that was me. that was me. that was me.
that's the sound of my mind going slightly crazy.
the derivative's a slope, don't be a dope--
or smoke it or toke it.
"don't choke it, just stroke it" said a guy to me once
and that's the same philosophy in dealing with a 'dunce.'
you can't force words down their throats and expect them to swallow,
you've got to sneak them in there, inside a marshmallow--
or inside a porn! yay for sex! i'm torn from the inside out.
slice me through from my sphincter straight up to my spout.
do you want to know me? clove me, look inside.
these aren't just organs, it's not just my hide
on the line. it's yours. and the whores' and the pimps'.
and the drug dealers', not life stealers. fuck those ladies and gents
who would have me adore the next president,
who i know won't affect any change, a move to freedom.
we preach love and acceptance, but the freaks--we just weed 'em
right out of our system. hell!, anyone different
from our cultural self-image, why, their lives must be misspent.
because they have piercings, a sleeve of tattoos.
because they do drugs or drink down the booze.
because they talk the african-american vernacular
because "that's not proper english, it's nothing spectacular."
because they speak spanish or yoruba or french.
because they're promiscuous, a whore, or a wench.
because they are heathens, or because they're religious.
because it's easy to hate, not so hard to burn bridges.
because they are men loving men and not women.
because they take it up the ass, now is that a sin then?
because they dress funny or laugh at different jokes.
but people are people are people. that's all folks.

back to my poetry