Mother always tells me --
shouts it in my face --
that I'm supposed to talk
with a decent, shimmering accent
and accept my last name,
but if I'm being honest
I cannot do such things.
Attach whatever label
you'd like, so that way
one may be able to
rationalize and explain away
all the things judged
by people who never mattered anyway.
I can smell the 'temporary' on you.
And I'm not 'self-medicating' my abundant
feelings of remorse and anger
with alcohol- Fuck you.
I'm simply drinking
'til I feel at one
with the ground below me-
See, doesn't that sound
much nicer
than how you bark
such clinical, dry terms
like a shark?
YOU ARE READING
the Dawning of Rage (poetry)
PoetryThis is a book of enraged poems. Don't say I didn't warn you! The purpose of this book, essentially, serves as a therapeutic outlet. This is NOT some manifesto, but a place of expression. Feelings of such loathing and hate, I don't believe, should b...
