Whereforto Ye Wanderers

Whereforto Ye Wanderers.

Monday, September 28, 2009

life in (almost) nineteen parts

eleven years old, I was
when the towers fell
wrote an essay about how
strong america is
I was so patriotic
and I mailed it to the president
and that meager monkeyface
mentioned it on TV
I was so patriotic
and I sang songs in school about
jesus living in my heart
before I knew about
blood and muscle,
tears and

don’t sweat it.
or maybe I should have
thirteen and I
hated you if you weren’t white
and couldn’t speak
english in america
I knew nothing of myself
nothing of my history
my present
my future
but I thought I knew them
and I remember
my brother’s cologne
drenching the bathroom walls
and I was nauseous
when I saw his red shirts
and the kids who walked
beside him
I knew nothing.
about culture
about life

about love.
but, of course,
at fourteen,
I did.
i told him I loved him
because he saved me
from hiding behind my bed
and dragging razors
across my limbs,
and I was fourteen and
my soul was limp
waking up to
long hallways
and geometric shapes
and never feeling
anything but
never feeling
anything but

the first memory I have
is of flashing lights
of ambulance
no sound
looking up and
red and blue
and my parents
told me I was almost three
and my head felt like one
hundred and three
they kept the hospital bracelet,
from the time I almost died
and sometimes I thought,
maybe that’s why they love me
so much
because they almost lost me
but I’ve lost myself too

a moment of clarity
was when I stopped
eating animals six
years ago,
when I started to see
life for what it was
and I found
compassion but
I couldn’t grab it
because I still lived
in alaska’s constant nighttime
and monsters held me
hostage underneath my bed
a moment of clarity when
I met holy souls
and I rose up from bitter roots
to blossoms
reaching toward the sun
and dripping poison on the
scaly-clawed figures
clenching on my legs
a moment of clarity
when I told my father that
I forgave him
and that I wouldn’t look
back to that with anguish
any longer
because the past may have
made what I am today
but if gold doesn’t stay
neither does black or gray

purple and yellow
couldn’t keep me in small-town
chairs where Lincoln sat
I’m still undecided.

sixteen and
I was getting good grades
in honors classes
but everyday was the same
woke up,
went to school,
came home and slept,
dreamt about life outside
of rotten flower valley town
still do
I never planned my escape then,
just did what I thought
I was supposed to do
to appease the adults
in my life

I remember horror dreams
more vividly than reality
and I sit
in places I don’t belong
and stare
while being stared upon
and tap pencils
on stained coffee tables
and leave scuff marks
behind on
cowskin seating because
I tuck my feet
beneath me

in defense of life,
I’ve run through city streets
and saw small girls beat
and dancing friends thrown
to the pavement.
I’ve choked on cement,
presidential falsities,
and vocal restraints

I strapped myself to
innocence for years
and I never
said fuck in front of
my parents
but I’ve always been a liar
my nose has grown like

ruined my childhood.
I sat in side and watching
the television
instead of making
shapes in the sky
and building houses
out of imaginary stone
I could’ve done so
much more with the time I’ve had
but I’ve always been
afraid of movement
amidst bodies
and glossy eyeballs

I still hear them
the years of sundays
spent in pews
hearing stories
all they were
I believed them
like I believed in america
like I believed in
the white race

but I hate the white man
and I hate america
and I hate those stories,
but I shouldn’t say hate
or should
or should not
but I do,
I do know that the kids
on the belleville bus
could’ve been kids that i
rode to school with
because not much has changed
over the last few years
not much has changed
a black man was annointed
and everyone chanted change
and hope
and there isn’t any
there’s a swine flu scare
pushing whitey righty into
nationalized healthcare
but I like plants more
than I like modern doctors
with their haugty pen swipes
and prescription psychiatric
tripping the fuck out of
the office because they’ve
told you that you’re
going to die in a couple
decades and you need to take
these drugs,
these drugs,
these rabbit eye poking,
chemical burn causing
addictive additives in
processed boxes on grocery store
these will save you
no trans fats, see
but you’ll still die
in a couple of decades

it was a stroke of luck
that I opted out,
that I dropped out of
media baptized lifestyle
that my pants
are painted with this circle A
that means life
and equality and I love
all men and women and
all of them who don’t fit
in binary code gender
it’s a stroke of luck
that I’ll see nineteen
and I’m not wasting my life
studying accounting
or living in shopping malls
with sorority sisters
not that I’d have the
self-esteem for that anyway

I’m almost nineteen
and eighteen was
better than the seventeen
I saw foreign cities, faces,
and learned more about
the life I want to live

I got in a fight at work
with a Zionist and
I had to nod my head
and I hated it
and I knew I couldn’t do it again.
A paycheck isn’t worth
giving up and giving in
to these arrogant fucks.
I will always stand by Palestinians.
I will stand by Iranians,
I will stand by Native Americans,
I will stand with non-humans
and I won’t eat them,
rape them, wear them,
exploit them
because if I’ve learned anything
it’s that life is not

dandelions are more than
and weed isn’t as cool as
you think it is
especially when cops shine lights
in your window and
youre so fucking blazed
that you can’t see straight
dandelions are more than
and when I was eleven
I didn’t know how to bleed
and I loved my nation
and a few years later
I didn’t mind camps of concentration
to go on repeat
and that’s fucked

dandelions are more than
and I’ve found my real roots
and they’re not bitter,
or sour,
and I’m growing
but I’m not growing up
like all these adults
because growing up
is giving up
on all that could be
and I know I’m only
almost nineteen but I’m
pretty sure that life
can always be more than
nine to five routine.

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