R.
Insert joke and pain, hope
and it it it.
From the classic alley
to the now much documented places
where you tear me.
I’ve seen all the tales, blank stares
and empty voices where I repeat it.
Here amongst the refugees I,
certainly don’t deserve it.
Me
the wretch of a place, with no hope
And here for I, I amongst the rivers now dry,
I’ll ask, why?
To survive I let go
and now don’t feel, I allow
and to aggress and now certainly feel
Sluts pretending to be students walk,
in the shadow of my imagined sixties warrior queens
now grandmothers with grey pubes-
the rickety old she-devils,
out of date and soured by their unreal expectations.
And I, modern modernity
hear the ancient fear and fragile wisdom “be careful”,
it’s the all.
Be all and end all
of one night and statistics of manic proportions.
Anciently effective,
a guillotine of sister’s souls.
How would Marie have fated
if the end was slow and gyrating, instead of swift and iconic?
No, now you need alarms, warning bells
hung from cows breasts
disguised by Victoria’s Secrets.
Luther Marches have no effect,
this civil unrest will never be unassessed
and closing, closing business is all that works.
“Expect some free love, honey
when you become
just too damn expensive.”
If you’re open for business expect all sorts, they tell me.
Call me it on the streets.
The odd shoplifter is expected they tell us.
Expect some free love, honey
when you become
just too damn expensive.
And the ummah, the ummah
should not tempt.
Have mercy, they tell me.
But almighty brother neither did yours.
As my exotic cries became prayers
and my prayers whispers...
till finally covered silence, quickly forgotten.
The lollipops, they are just too sweet to not be licked
but then secretly they’re kicked kicked kicked.
Rap it up, insert weapons, arm yourself against the other 50 percent.
Silence as I exit what he entered, if he was his.
The gruesome creation has now become a celebration.
My mother tells me of how ancient it is.
Through all times, she repeats. Trivial- it is.
My cinderella grandmother was lied to by her own wicked stepmother
of the foreign hand so cold and harsh.
But her choices tell me to ignore and further ignore.
Can’t remember time or place
but always that one fear, always wary by the moonless night
and him waiting to reach me, reck me and finally reap it.
I’ve read, and seen in order to keep me informed and entertained
with horror, titillation and the familiar- you could be next.
And once I’ve I felt a monster’s cry, now dead.
Do we need every Jane Doe to become a hick Lucretia?
Or are forgiving mothers and the flow
of cheap drink enough to satisfy the rationality
of a mentality?
That will eventually cut,
all my now dreaded daughters possibly created
by a wannabe Sextus.
Hush, hush heroes are never tained
and childhood neighbours that were fated
to spoil a rose tinted window were baited.
What? They ask.
Takes it for a kid to think, to drink and
jezebel, to arrives swinging her mountainous hips
to invite
the litte lost boy, modern manhood allows bars
and confused traffic lights,
signals were faulty that day, they always say.
So he drove away.
Publics forgive and forget
and cowboys in newly dry cleaned suits by their victims,
pretend legislators
make rules and try to be our regulators
To calm they sway and hold hold hold me down
as I also take the pounding, I surely love.
In the unknown ancient modernity of my shameful femininity
Swallow the dates, make the group enjoy themselves
He took you out. Don’t you think dinners and vows cost?
close those seductive eyes and husband, daddy let’s go, go, go.
We were just made so...
Rainbow sisters are always bothering the unknown misters,
too long too short, just too bloody much.
Just once Pangea should swap
and turn baby faced angel to your much loved mother
and see if macho weak mama’s boy would dare come, come.
Come here and boast of my given freedom,
while nightly mothers, sisters hold vigil by doors of my home
hoping she will enter home safe
from the prowling night beasts she could surely meet.
Scrape me clean and convict the fiend is all we imagine
forgetting his allies - paperwork and excuses.
Judged only by his brothers, breeches twitching
as they imagine me and them, instead of you and me.
A culture a culture is what they tell me they create
on every twitter scroll and facebook hardcover
and print and picture
You
You
and HER.
Tuesday 16th April 2013
