Monday, November 9, 2009

moment of silence

Walker-Hoover, an 11-year-old African-American boy from Springfield, MA, took his own life, in response to the bullying he endured everyday at school. According to reports, Walker-Hoover was repeatedly taunted for “being gay.”

can it be written
without being told
like the letters
swimming with
mixed vegetables in alphabet soup
interpretation left at the whim
of the glutton
no spell check or dictionary needed

with spoon in hand any man can
plan and predict as fools often do
concepts created and based on
fixed outcomes
loose facts
this and that
but sometimes i wanna chill
and not know or be led to believe

let me remain oblivious
don’t blow the element of
surprise like a cheap high
like the one where you
sucked dick
to get a hit and now
it’s all written with the
letters in a poet’s mind
ravished by wine and
anti-depression pills

i can’t make myself
not feel what that eleven year old
boy felt moments before he hung himself
or that lil gurl who was abused
and tortured to death by her step
momma and daddy
daddy’s little gurl
not in her world
hangers and dark closets
where the real monster
fed her
wife before honor

i honor you in this poem
this minute
this moment of silence

excuses excuses excuses

i'm all out of excuses
plum out
can't make up anymore
excuse after excuse
covered mirrors
dark rooms
unopened blinds
no more excuses about why i can't

flashback to dysfunctional childhoods
fondled in places by different faces
house key around my neck
working mom
absent father
excuses excuses excuses
i'm empty

like gas light on empty
like not one drop
kool-aid pitcher left empty
i have relied on excuses far too long
like why i haven't published a sentence
or taken a risk beyond my mind's imagination
living my passion

bad credit, lapsed insurance, i hate my job
i'm lonely, fat, and depressed
i can't make up another excuse

there’s breath in my body
blood flowing through my veins
toxic brains can be cleaned
the word value does not make it a meal
cheap now but later no deal
the shyt is real

processed meat with swollen feet
ice tea made too sweet
not sweet like a baby's kiss
but sweet like you run the risk
of having to buy needles and dialysis time
mental excursions no rehearsing this time
no excuse comes to mind

like calling out of work cause you're
feeling sick, can't stop taking shits
brown water falling from your ass
nausea, loss of appetite, knowing that
processed meat got you a soar seat
like sandpaper raw, u can't sleep
no insurance only home remedies
scrapping up pennies to
purchase pharmaceuticals
missing work boss stating the
rules to you
bring a note or
some type of excuse
bitch i'm sick what you want me to do
i can take pics of my shit and
text them to you or email them as
attachments from google

screw you fuck you
no more excuses i'm through
who's who
if i was working for myself i wouldn't need no excuse
if i was following my passion i wouldn't need no excuse
if i'm living life's purpose i wouldn't need no excuse
no more excuses
i'm all out of excuses
i'm through

Possible Book Cover