Thursday, February 7

Some Other Where...

I am the blind woman’s teacup.
I am the blind woman’s teacup.
I am the blind woman’s teacup.
I am the blind woman’s teacup.
I am the blind woman’s teacup.


I can’t see myself the way that others see me. I don’t see the potential, or the talent, or the strength. I look into the mirror and see the wide eyed failure I truly am.

But friend, I believe things will be better some day; that I’ll be in a better place, that I’ll be a better person. I just have to keep on keeping with the times even when I can’t keep keeping anymore.

I am bound by obligation, weighted down by responsibility I never wanted.
I want to be selfish and unkind. But I can’t.

This is an awful place to be.

If the greatest truth is the self, than I think I’ll reject your impositions and rejoice in my own.


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I wonder what the soundtrack to my life would be like,
Aside from the booming voices of Broadway
Turning breakfast into a musical number
I munch my cheerios while the butter
Sashays across the toast and the eggs
Harmonize with my orange juice.

Would it include a tack list of
Angry girls brandishing guitars?
Feminism curled within their curvy bodies,
Mantras filled with bitterness and scorn
Because little Jimmy across the way
Ripped off Mr. Snuggles head
And daddy never loved you enough.

Or would the London Symphony Orchestra follow me down the streets
Staccatoing along with my strut,
Trill as I trip over my own feet?
And then, from behind dumpsters and teahouses,
Peering down from rooftops and popping out of pubs
Are the jeering faces of the Hallelujah choir
Belting out “Karma!”

Would they play outside my dinner dates?
Sappy songs with empty promises
Of love today and tomorrow and forever in between
While the chicks with guitars give me the evil eye
For succumbing to male dominance in a patriarchal society.

It would be quite distracting
Having the stiff performers staging themselves across my life,
Judging me and my reckless behavior.
However would I manage to slurp down my soup?

Records playing in loop de loops
Always the same, always the same
Nothing changes so change nothing
About yourself.
Be selfish and cruel and unkind
Love nothing but what you can hold in your hands
Fear the fear of God and run the other way
When people chase the dreams that
Rain like senseless sense.
Rain like senseless sense
All over the carpet again.
Finish your sentence before you start the next
Semi-colon the world into oblivion
It’s a beautiful game meant for those
Who have a stomach strong enough to
Hold the foul and bitter truth.

Truth is a line in a play about
Cookies and children and pedophiles.
Truth is the pop rocks exploding in you
Cereal box.
Truth is the way the water lilies suck the lake dry.

Mow your lawn and cut your grass
Before the home owners association sell your
Children to child labor
And deport you to a country you never
Belonged to.

Someone’s off being me with my
Passport picture tucked safely under their pillow,
Where mine use to hide,
Afraid of flight.

When things go rotten
You need to throw them away before they come and get you.

It’s raining senseless sense all over the carpet again
And again and again
I’m a record playing in loop de loops
Sounds of silence echoing in the mirror.