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25 October 2011

Unremarkable the Poem

After really reflecting on my comment about myself being rootless, I scribbled down a poem. I know this would never pass in the writing class I am taking as it does not open with a "zinger" the first and the last lines do not juxapose, and basically, the poem lacks everything that makes a poem. I am fine with that because the Poem, is really be raging against... against what? What am I raging against? I really don't know. I hope you take the time to read it, as it is the longest poem I have ever written and you can help me out in my quest....


I am just an average girl
Middle class struggles with uncelebrated accomplishments
I live among sisters like J-Lo and Queen LaTiffa
But I am in their shadows.
Shadows. Shadows. Shadows

My granddaddies were not oppressors
While slave were being traded and Mesitzo were being raped,
They fought for their clans and watched
As their kilts were burned and their castles under seiged
They did not forget how to weave the patterns of their tarragons.
They did not forget. Not Forget. Forget

My Daddies were average men,
Broken by their war and mind-games.
They disappeared too soon: overworked, over drugged, over-whelmed
Under-appreciated, undermined, under supported, under achieving.
They taught me about Honour. Hard Work. HARD WORK,Hardwork .
Work ethic that killed them and child support cheques never paid.
Never paid. Never. Paid. Ne.ver. Paid.

My Mama? Who is she?
The first woman janitor of the state hospital.
All she conquered was stolen:
By children, by men, by the system, by Haters, by society’s boxes.
Her talents boxed up and shipped away to another foreign place.
Until all she wants to do is stay home, in her little house,
And yell at the neighbor-men for not feeding their kids.
Feed your kids. YOUR Kids. Kids.

I wish the men in my life were Denzel Washingtons or even Jackie Chans
With stubborn, intelligent jaws, marked by friendly, shy grins.
Or ancient-artists with modern twist.
Exposed sacred secrets married with humour.

Instead my brothers are starved victorious academic boys.
Bitter by he-struggles.
And Handsome constructions workers hating the brothers from across the borders
Claims they are stealing his job, robbing his pay.
Together they laugh like the haters who always Hate
And never win.
Never win. Never win. Never. Win.

So here I am.
My blue eyes hurt in the tropical sun.
If I don’t study hard, I’ll lose my scholarship.
I have to teach a litter of little haters because I have to have a job.
Pay the rent, keep Mama from starving.
But the world thinks I am a volunteer.
Ask of me for the handouts that I want but never ask for.
They yank when they “speak” to me, while I want to chat.
Kriolized be mi tongue.
I learned not to hate the haters or the brothers
But I war daily against the game.
Against the game, the game. Against. The. Game.

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