I Hate That [Dec. 18]

This was written two nights ago, or should I say last night since I wrote it at midnight. Sort of spontaneous. I was tired. But hopefully it’ll be enjoyed anyway.

–

You know what I hate?
I hate those emails you get from those friends with no lives,
Containing curses of if you don’t send forward this in five minutes you will have ten thousand years of bad luck.
And it’s funny because I don’t believe in luck.
And if I did I don’t think luck would be placed in the hands of html text left to fill up my inbox
Stuffed in a box with packing peanuts and tissue paper to be shipped across databases to spam
And to eventually be tossed into the trash.
I hate that someone I know and care for wants me to have bad luck.

You know what I hate?
I hate that I can’t go through a full school day without attracting a judgmental look from someone I don’t know
As if I’m not allowed to be who I want to be.
As if it is illegal for me to be me.
And perhaps I’m missing something
(You see, recently, I haven’t been all that up to date on current events)
But the last time I checked there was no law against my right to be myself.
It’s not about freedom of speech.
Freedom of expression.
Freedom to have a personality.
Of individuality.

There are places in this world where people can’t afford to be individuals.
Shells of humanity, souls hanging overhead like single flickering light bulbs
With no understanding of when the room is going to go black.
And it’s a fact that they spread
Lingering whispers behinds the backs of the society in a society where individuality ends at your fingerprints,
Unable to make an impression
Where an impression is needed to show the difference between rags to riches.

I hate when I know someone who thinks they’re better than me
Because I don’t think I’m better than them
And who likes to be looked down upon.
I bet not a person here wishes they were deaf and blind.
But I do.
Because I’m woken up on lazy Saturday mornings when the birds themselves haven’t rubbed the sleep out of their eyes
To cries down the hall.
Horrific, shrieking sounds slinging insult after insult in my direction.
I try to push them away but they just keep coming back.
They’re like boomerangs.
I wish I was deaf and blind so that when I’m confronted in person I don’t have to hear what you say to me and I have no sight to read lips.
And perhaps I am a coward.

But to me a coward is someone who hides behind harsh words,
The bully of the classroom hiding behind closed fists and snarls and glares.
They say bulling is a result of violence in the childhood.
Beautiful flowers ripped from their stems before they’re fully grown,
Torn to shreds, dipped in oil. Tainted.
Except I don’t redirect the insults slung at me by my family to innocent people who have problems of their own.
I use words to craft awkward poetry and prose that consists of one too many run-on sentences.
I like run-on sentences.

But do you know what I hate?
I hate the people who hide behind fake lives
Living lies like it isn’t going to make their nose longer.
The next time you think someone is lying to you
I want you to get up in their face and push your noses together.
See if you can feel something pushing back at you.
I hate the people who don’t have control.
Who don’t know their limits or their boundaries.
Reckless. Wild abandon.
Animals, jungle cats thrown into domestic civilization trying to fit into a nation where they don’t belong because they can’t shed the alpha persona.
Personally,  I hate the majority. I do sort of hate humanity.

But you know what I really hate?
I hate that I can’t stand up to my family.
That I can’t defend my individuality.
To the faces that scowl and sneer like they’re better than me
Because I can think in my head. Please.
I hate people who hide behind fake lives and fake lives aren’t me.
I have a shell to break out of.
But right now I’m not sure if I have the strength to be me.

And I hate that.

 

 

© 2011 Shae Smile

Nude Blue

So I am not super extra late with my post. Well, I am but it’s not like we have many readers at the moment so I’m just going to pretend I’m not! Well this isn’t a slam poem, it’s an ekphrastic poem which is basically a poem about a piece of art work. I choose Picasso’s Nude Blue and it’s from three different perspectives. Hope you like and I promise I’ll be better! and next time I’ll even post a video to make up for the lack of slam poem and lack of being on time.

I

Her breath freezes over

as my cool touch

brushes her skin.

My dark pessimism break her

as her body shivers from my frostbite.

She does not speak

but her lips shatter.

Her blue tears melting,

synching into my frozen self.

Slowly, slowly,

she stops her struggles.

Slowly, slowly,

her body freezes in time.

II

I do not see him.

His breath wraps around me, coolly,

and he places a hand on my nude body.

I am so blue in mood as for he takes away all joy.

Everything is fading.

Fading from the time that I knew

and now everything is mute.

Do you not see?

My skin turns gray as my life is drained.

The colors drain around my vision,

and life becomes so bland.

Do you see me here?

Fading into the frozen breath,

bold strokes grabbing at my breasts.

I curl up, shielding myself from the cool’s touch.

I do not want to die,

as my last breath says goodbye,

and my lips turn blue and grey

III

My bristles feel the cool touch of the frozen colors.

Nothing moves fast,

not even my master’s talented hand.

It is a slow process,

As slow as melting snow.

And I feel bad for the woman,

as she is as blue

as Picasso’s dark paints.

So blue.

So cold.

So lonely.

She tries to move, shield herself from the darkness,

the freezing cold that incases her skin.

Her thoughts cased in such dark ice.

She does not see the anguish in my master’s eyes,

The sorrow that pushes her faults forward,

that pushes her death sooner.

Because as my bristles are cleaned,

and time goes by,

she is incased in agony,

for all to see.

 

© Ashlea Gable, 2011