MrGrunge
Bluelighter
I used to write a fair amount of slam poetry back in the day, would participate in coffee shop slams downtown every once in awhile and I even won a few. This is one of the first pieces I wrote, and given the subject matter of the board I thought it appropriate. It's not something that translates perfectly into text, one of the most important aspects of performance poetry is the way it sounds when spoken, but what they hey. Any comments are appreciated!
They will call our love an abomination.
They will call it sacrilege, or an affront to God Almighty.
They will call it sick, twisted, weird.
They will call it…wrong.
They will call it these things because they don’t understand
Because to understand is to be tolerant.
It means being able to empathize with the man who just stabbed you in the back with a rolodex full of his regrets
It means being able to wear humility on your sleeve
And to reflect kindness in your eyes so that those tiny glowing orbs of gas galaxy satellite perfection
Can detect something in the mirror to be proud of
Something that you can pass down to your kids without feeling like such a hypocrite
Something you can whisper into the vortex of hollow memories and hate
And hear your words reverberate like a chorus of bells in snow globe.
And yet...
They still won’t get it.
They will never understand how to love you the way I do
Because somewhere down the long of life lessons told atop daddy’s knee caps
And fireside family chats
They were told to despise you.
Not just in the way someone despises, say, a smack addict who “borrows” all their spoons
But in a the way that a man can hate another man without even knowing his name
Just by the color of his skin or the way which he prays.
The truly vile, revolting hate that bubbles up boils over
From years of volcanic propaganda politics and raw sewage news footage
The recipe for Holocaustic soda that burns like lye underneath your skin.
So it really is unsurprising that they can hate you with such ferocity
But, I don’t care.
To say I love in words alone would not be enough to express the true depth of my emotions
So, here are some more clever metaphors:
I would endlessly compose your name in smoke signals and prose written in a language I didn’t even know with a hypodermic pen covered in hepatitis and AIDS that I found in the bathroom stall at a Wendy’s
I would sing your praises while swallowing swords
Daring each and every blade to tear and cut as they descend slowly into my gut
I would bathe in a kiddie pool full of scorpions and black widows as long as you watched me
(Because that shit is fucking scary)
And I know that you are worth every bite, scratch or sting because you allow me to feel whole again
By giving me something to believe in
You have given me life confirmation without even speaking
Because GOD nothing gets better than the kissing
Those hot, dragon-breath exhalations sifting smoke and cinder over my lips and into my lungs
Filling my body to capacity as you invade every last inch of me it’s…*phew*
Magic.
I can sympathize with the skepticism of those who stopped believing in magic long ago
The ones who gave up fairy tales for three-piece suits
And a briefcase full of more documents and work-loads than family photos
But why should I have to give up my dreams because they’ve given up theirs?
Why should I surrender my simple pleasures because they’ve forgotten the feel
Of imagination caressing their brain stems with synaptic superhero flashbacks
And maps of planets that nobody’s ever heard of?
No.
If I want you, I will have you.
I will traverse the gaps and trenches dug by
The portly, pompous men sitting high atop their wooden benches
And I will scream your name as loud as I can
Until the blood vessels in my lungs begin to pop like a Chinese new years celebration
Until my eyes begin to flash with strobe-light meteorite crashes
Until the ringing in my ears won’t stop for the next five hundred years
Until my vocal chords snap atwain I will continue to shout your name
Because just like in the comic books that they used to read when they were my age
I am Spiderman
And you are my Mary Jane.
They will call our love an abomination.
They will call it sacrilege, or an affront to God Almighty.
They will call it sick, twisted, weird.
They will call it…wrong.
They will call it these things because they don’t understand
Because to understand is to be tolerant.
It means being able to empathize with the man who just stabbed you in the back with a rolodex full of his regrets
It means being able to wear humility on your sleeve
And to reflect kindness in your eyes so that those tiny glowing orbs of gas galaxy satellite perfection
Can detect something in the mirror to be proud of
Something that you can pass down to your kids without feeling like such a hypocrite
Something you can whisper into the vortex of hollow memories and hate
And hear your words reverberate like a chorus of bells in snow globe.
And yet...
They still won’t get it.
They will never understand how to love you the way I do
Because somewhere down the long of life lessons told atop daddy’s knee caps
And fireside family chats
They were told to despise you.
Not just in the way someone despises, say, a smack addict who “borrows” all their spoons
But in a the way that a man can hate another man without even knowing his name
Just by the color of his skin or the way which he prays.
The truly vile, revolting hate that bubbles up boils over
From years of volcanic propaganda politics and raw sewage news footage
The recipe for Holocaustic soda that burns like lye underneath your skin.
So it really is unsurprising that they can hate you with such ferocity
But, I don’t care.
To say I love in words alone would not be enough to express the true depth of my emotions
So, here are some more clever metaphors:
I would endlessly compose your name in smoke signals and prose written in a language I didn’t even know with a hypodermic pen covered in hepatitis and AIDS that I found in the bathroom stall at a Wendy’s
I would sing your praises while swallowing swords
Daring each and every blade to tear and cut as they descend slowly into my gut
I would bathe in a kiddie pool full of scorpions and black widows as long as you watched me
(Because that shit is fucking scary)
And I know that you are worth every bite, scratch or sting because you allow me to feel whole again
By giving me something to believe in
You have given me life confirmation without even speaking
Because GOD nothing gets better than the kissing
Those hot, dragon-breath exhalations sifting smoke and cinder over my lips and into my lungs
Filling my body to capacity as you invade every last inch of me it’s…*phew*
Magic.
I can sympathize with the skepticism of those who stopped believing in magic long ago
The ones who gave up fairy tales for three-piece suits
And a briefcase full of more documents and work-loads than family photos
But why should I have to give up my dreams because they’ve given up theirs?
Why should I surrender my simple pleasures because they’ve forgotten the feel
Of imagination caressing their brain stems with synaptic superhero flashbacks
And maps of planets that nobody’s ever heard of?
No.
If I want you, I will have you.
I will traverse the gaps and trenches dug by
The portly, pompous men sitting high atop their wooden benches
And I will scream your name as loud as I can
Until the blood vessels in my lungs begin to pop like a Chinese new years celebration
Until my eyes begin to flash with strobe-light meteorite crashes
Until the ringing in my ears won’t stop for the next five hundred years
Until my vocal chords snap atwain I will continue to shout your name
Because just like in the comic books that they used to read when they were my age
I am Spiderman
And you are my Mary Jane.
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