Mamma, you’re wrong (poem)

i-can-feel-it

 

 

You can’t defend against air
words passing through lips or keyboard strokes and fingertips
there’s a safety behind the glass
that allows your inner demons to come out and play
that allows us to bring about the worst, be the worst, in all we have to say

Truth? Come on.
That’s not necessary anymore
say it once more and it becomes fact
say it loud enough, say it vicious enough, the target will jump back
your vagina is not a standard bearer for rightness
as perfect diction isn’t a standard for whiteness
like blackness isn’t invalidated by what white people say.

You throw out grenades and everyone hits the deck
but once someone gets tired of being shelled and tosses one back
you weep and point to a white flag that a moment ago – wasn’t there
and point to his dick and say – that’s the reason why you stood up to my craziness
I’m oppressed

But what depresses me
are the egg shells I walk upon
tumblr terms and made up crisis
in your terrible first world
let’s pass out the awards – everyone’s a winner
and no one is ever wrong
your ego, my ego, lets throw our humanity out the window with some trumped up pseudo-lingo you heard some toked up club kid say.

We’re nothing but hookers looking for more, just one more
tell me – explain to me – why are your words truer than mine?
Why are your experiences the demarcation
Why has your chosen career caused your humanity to flatline?

Pass the buck – sorry chuck
this award winner from Columbia feels the need to deride the best of us
can’t make an argument as to why
but all that glitters in some made up award show
is reason enough for her to demand more, please daddy – just a little more

Sorry babe – but I gotta run
your rightness is blighted, your lies are nearsighted, and the fire your starting burns us all
I can’t take the pressure – so much static from your hangers-on
more unfamiliar names added to unfamiliar names because you put out the call
for your backup hyena’s stalking
wounded deer fleeing
but now you’re
mad because one of them turned?

Be mad – I guess
at least that something
which is more than what you’ve been all along
but don’t chase me screaming, pointing, jeering, and lamenting
when I tell you- quite truthfully
mamma, you’re wrong.

You’re just wrong.

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