Today at 1:17am |
i confess my regression
during the construction
of my easter poem
and into a list of shit
i hate about mothers day.
every day
between easter and may i
spend choking back tears
and pills,
trying to shut down the
grief and madness that
encompasses having a
child
drip from your body
without your permission.
listen,
i never said this poem
would be easy,
don't wave a white flag
in my face and cash out
now
this is what life is
like sometimes princess,
flashes of inspired humility sandwiched
between horrors that
leave you hoarse from the
screaming,
and drugs?
please.
brown bottles with labels
are more illegal than any
poppy flower in the field
of afghanstan and
you can imagine why the
afghans smoke them as
they watch
the babys drip from their
bodies only to go into fields and die
amid violence and
gunfire
i
hate mothers day,
its a betrayal to the
ones with no proof
sons in jails and what do
their mothers do? son's
in graves and what do
their mothers do?
son's with mothers sold
up to the heavens for
crack or heart attacks i am sure that breast cancer is the most offensive thing to happen to women since control top panty hose
where are the cards for
sons and daughters who
have no place to send
greetings and salutations
and
please...dont humor me
with the 'mail it to god'bullshit because
ive done it, tried to mail my son a
letter and at the instant
i mailed it wanted to
climb in to burn it
damning the idiot who suggested
'it will be cathartic'
it isnt.
so on mothers day
two things;
one. dont make the assumption that every
women with out a child is ,not somebody's mother
and
two. dont make the
assumption that every child without a mother is
not somebodys son or daughter and you probably
think 'is she an idiot? '
sometimes, but you'd be suprised how quickly people forget
when there is no evidence a child was hosted by a
selfless selfish heffa
who turned around
and had the nerve
to die upon deliverance
its like celebrating
reading day in a dsylexic commune
i hereby decree,
mother's day illegal
within my three feet of
personal space.
anyone who is anyone who has had anyone
who's a not someone
and or is the vicitim of an immaculate conception with no recourse for
claiming said conceptualist,
is welcome, inside my three feet..
at which point
a hug, will have no choice but to ensue enrapture and
decompress
the time we spend between easter
and mother's day
waiting for the pastel dressess to disappear from site,
again.
during the construction
of my easter poem
and into a list of shit
i hate about mothers day.
every day
between easter and may i
spend choking back tears
and pills,
trying to shut down the
grief and madness that
encompasses having a
child
drip from your body
without your permission.
listen,
i never said this poem
would be easy,
don't wave a white flag
in my face and cash out
now
this is what life is
like sometimes princess,
flashes of inspired humility sandwiched
between horrors that
leave you hoarse from the
screaming,
and drugs?
please.
brown bottles with labels
are more illegal than any
poppy flower in the field
of afghanstan and
you can imagine why the
afghans smoke them as
they watch
the babys drip from their
bodies only to go into fields and die
amid violence and
gunfire
i
hate mothers day,
its a betrayal to the
ones with no proof
sons in jails and what do
their mothers do? son's
in graves and what do
their mothers do?
son's with mothers sold
up to the heavens for
crack or heart attacks i am sure that breast cancer is the most offensive thing to happen to women since control top panty hose
where are the cards for
sons and daughters who
have no place to send
greetings and salutations
and
please...dont humor me
with the 'mail it to god'bullshit because
ive done it, tried to mail my son a
letter and at the instant
i mailed it wanted to
climb in to burn it
damning the idiot who suggested
'it will be cathartic'
it isnt.
so on mothers day
two things;
one. dont make the assumption that every
women with out a child is ,not somebody's mother
and
two. dont make the
assumption that every child without a mother is
not somebodys son or daughter and you probably
think 'is she an idiot? '
sometimes, but you'd be suprised how quickly people forget
when there is no evidence a child was hosted by a
selfless selfish heffa
who turned around
and had the nerve
to die upon deliverance
its like celebrating
reading day in a dsylexic commune
i hereby decree,
mother's day illegal
within my three feet of
personal space.
anyone who is anyone who has had anyone
who's a not someone
and or is the vicitim of an immaculate conception with no recourse for
claiming said conceptualist,
is welcome, inside my three feet..
at which point
a hug, will have no choice but to ensue enrapture and
decompress
the time we spend between easter
and mother's day
waiting for the pastel dressess to disappear from site,
again.
