Political Protest
"Political Protest"
Hi. I'm a poet, and this is a poetry slam,
and I happen to vote Democratic,
so you know what that means.
It means that here, I will tell you how angry I am,
How disgusted I am,
How fucking fed up I am with politics and war
and hate and misogny and racism and the way America treats gay people.
I'll gnash my teeth and tell you about how I'm smart
because I don't like your God- because hell, who believes in that shit anymore?
I'll tell you how un-fucking-believeable it is
That there's a suburb somewhere near Saint Louis
That can call itself Wildwood
Even as it cut down all the trees
And filled those once wild places with chipboard houses
And strip malls.
Because I know you know I know I hate strip malls,
Starbucks and Wal-Mart and Walgreens and Pier One,
How I hate the rich and fight for the poor.
You know this-
You know this because I showed up here tonight
to scream bloody fucking murder at you,
to breathe heavily into the microphone,
to drill it into your minds:
PROGRESS is a lie.
CAPITALISM is a lie.
AMERICA is a lie.
Except I'm not going to do that.
Because yelling doesn't do anything.
It doesn't make the world a better place.
It doesn't save anybody's life.
It doesn't really tell you what's wrong with the world,
or how to make it a little more right.
It just lets a little more hot air into the breeze
and if you agree with me, it lets you feel a little more smug,
and if you disagree, it just makes me seem like a prick.
All yelling does is let me believe I'm part of the solution
for another day, for just one more day.
Anger is easy. Anger flows. Anger punctuates with a machete.
But anger is unreasoning. Unattractive. And in the end, God willing, unsuccessful.
Don't yell. Think.
-12/6/2007
Hi. I'm a poet, and this is a poetry slam,
and I happen to vote Democratic,
so you know what that means.
It means that here, I will tell you how angry I am,
How disgusted I am,
How fucking fed up I am with politics and war
and hate and misogny and racism and the way America treats gay people.
I'll gnash my teeth and tell you about how I'm smart
because I don't like your God- because hell, who believes in that shit anymore?
I'll tell you how un-fucking-believeable it is
That there's a suburb somewhere near Saint Louis
That can call itself Wildwood
Even as it cut down all the trees
And filled those once wild places with chipboard houses
And strip malls.
Because I know you know I know I hate strip malls,
Starbucks and Wal-Mart and Walgreens and Pier One,
How I hate the rich and fight for the poor.
You know this-
You know this because I showed up here tonight
to scream bloody fucking murder at you,
to breathe heavily into the microphone,
to drill it into your minds:
PROGRESS is a lie.
CAPITALISM is a lie.
AMERICA is a lie.
Except I'm not going to do that.
Because yelling doesn't do anything.
It doesn't make the world a better place.
It doesn't save anybody's life.
It doesn't really tell you what's wrong with the world,
or how to make it a little more right.
It just lets a little more hot air into the breeze
and if you agree with me, it lets you feel a little more smug,
and if you disagree, it just makes me seem like a prick.
All yelling does is let me believe I'm part of the solution
for another day, for just one more day.
Anger is easy. Anger flows. Anger punctuates with a machete.
But anger is unreasoning. Unattractive. And in the end, God willing, unsuccessful.
Don't yell. Think.
-12/6/2007