my poem no. 9
It's my scream
MY howl to the waves
It's the voice of my people
- I don't wanna ba a success,
go away bright colored women with gigantic breasts
I wanna be special
For once in my life I wanna hear the secret music
I'm always talking about
I wanna stop fearing people in the crowd -
It's the pray of my people
I'm running from them
They scare me
They need help from me
- You, looking at my boobs
I don't mind
I don't mind
you're not one of my own,
so feel free to imagine fucking me from behind.
You, great-looking guys,
my future husbands and lovers,
wouldn't understand.
You're looking at the sky and see blue -
It's lying on the carpet
spent and heavy and sweaty
hunt by the raised eyebrow of my mother
beating - beating - beating !
my head against the air
I feel guilty about my lesbian dream, mum
it would have disgusted you
My people would have told me it's OK
Keep your slaps
Keep your understanding
I don't want girls
I don't want guys
they have faces...
It's the constant flight
I'm running from my people
they scare me
they always find me
and I find them
repelled by their truth
by the fact that I'm not alone in my craziness
and SO crossed when they tell me something nice
when they wanna fuck me
when they turn to be humans
when they don't understand what I'm saying either
None of us undestands
We lost the rhythm
We lost
the rhythm
the
rhythm of the waves
no
longer runs our hearts
There’s
no space
no
compassion of minds
no
blinding madness in screams at night!
-
There’s the scream again
the
sound NOBODY
is brave
enough to make
not any
more. –
Scream,
clever people,
scream
at strangers.
Scream
in your pillows.
Scream
at your parents.
They
don’t know the war
they
live in a coma
interrupted
by occasional happiness upon new-born children
-
Healthy and just marvelous! –
You poor
little thing.
Tell it,
tell it, right on the birth-bed
Tell it to howl to the moon
that
there’s no rhythm
no way
of happy life
no way
to be pure
no way
to sin.
No beat
to keep…
