Wednesday, September 23, 2009

P.I.T. - poem

Welcome to the P.I.T.
Here, time is completely relative,
just a man-made construct.
Here, there are no seconds or minutes,
because time is a part of life.

This pit is not my life.

My life is all in my hands and in my head
(my real life hasn't even started yet);
it is not subject to this circumstance.
I make my reality...

And right now as you're watching me,
hearing me take up three minutes of your illusive time,
Poetry is here!
It hovers in this room like a cloud,
it seeps into your skin like Oklahoma humidity.
these tongues of fire burn, not only to be heard, but to help you see.

Don't get it twisted,
this is NOT Shakespeare's poetry.
This is nitty gritty,
hit-you-over-the-head and make-your-tear-ducts-bleed poetry.
These are words as they explain my pain,
movement as it works out my aggression,
performance meant to keep my feet on the ground,
and passion used as fuel for the fire that will
burn this pit down.

Forget foster care.
The Earth herself gave birth to me.
Anytime I need to be held
I can just lie down in the grass,
meld back into the Earth from whence I came,
breathe in the fresh air that first spoke my real name _________.

I don't ever have to worry about my mother leaving me.
The day the Earth ceases to exist
is the day you all stop believing in the silly idea of seconds and minutes,
and the day that I transcend this body and this life.
But until then,
the only thing I have is the pit, the P-I-T,
the transition,
the intersection of time and reality
as they come head-to-head, toe-to-toe with poetry.
I'm not afraid of the day Mother Earth divorces Father Time
and abandons the facade along with you and me
because that's the day...
That's the day I'll be free.

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