R.

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out of date and soured by their unreal expectations.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