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Shonen Knife-Frogphobia |
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yeah fuckers, i'm bored enough to write in this peice of shit again...i'm still uber pissed at my dad for fucking deleting all those people, but i'll have my buddy list back soon enough...in the mean time, i'm talking to the few people i have on my buddy list...or at least the few people that i want to talk to...man it's so fucking boring here!! i don't think we have school tomorrow, but who the fuck knows, this weather is just shitty....man, it's like 6:30 and i've only been up for like 5 fucking hours, haha! damn...
okay anyway..i really should write some of my better poems up here...let me find my poetry book and spend the next fucking 30 mintues typing up poems.....
'Untitled'
I want to hear a childs innocence
cry out against the roar of propaganda.
It's peircing scream
sending echos across the sunset.
I want to see
A young girls mind,
brimming with disgusting concepts
of the ways of "our" people.
I want to see a young girls mind
that can think these thoughts
and not be afraid of the cruel,
judgemental realities
that infest our citizens.
I want to smell the salt in
a little boys tears
as he weeps for his father.
His father, his father,
a kind soul, in need of a new love.
I want to hold him close to me,
absorb his tears with my skin,
let him know that just because
he has no mother to read stories at night,
he is still loved.
I just want to feel the rough skin
Of an old, wrinkled woman,
whose life has been over looked by society.
I want to wrap my fingers around words
that she whispers softly to herself
in artificial heat,
created by the buzz of corporations.
I want to scream against barriers
and make echos across the sunset.
I want to lick the salty wounds
of young soldiers in Iraq.
I want to force my fists
through brick walls
of discrimination, sexism, racism,
homophobia, criticism,
Until they bleed out distraugh voices,
afraid...
Afraid of telegrams
afraid of black boxes,
afraid of trusting our leaders
when they tell us that we're winning
when they tell us
that we're okay.
I want to not be reminded of Hitler
when I see our nations actions.
I want to paint my words
on the face of today
I want
to not be afraid.
'My Southern Descent'
My southern descent haunts me.
My own ancestors cracked the whip of slavery.
They sat dining on fine wines
while children worked away innocence
In the cotton fields.
My southern descent
howls through the maple trees
and the city lights.
Where telephone poles stand,
My ancestors slaves wover
their blood into sun stricken plants.
My southern descent
throws blows of reality
as I sit in classrooms, listening
to the extremities my ancestors went to
to simply sit on their asses
While innocent POEPLE,
wrongfully colored Negro, and Nigger,
worked under their bigotry and stupidity.
My southern descent
bleeds out tender
drops of narcissim.
They looked themselves in the eye
and with what they saw,
they were satisfied.
My southern descent haunts me.
'Letter to Will Harmon'
Dearest Will,
Not much has happened
in this "quiet" town in the past
months we've with hel
pages filled with words of
middle school torment, humor,
anguish.
In all the days past,
there have been gunshots,
riots, newborns...
Teenagers being reborn into
soft sheets of paper, embraced by words on a page
and finally realizing who they are.
Others ignore
that little voice in their heads...
They're just to amazed by the
idea of being..."cool"
accepted where as I am often
miscomprehended.
And I envy the sparrows with their sweet, simple song
sounding through and through the tops
of pine trees,
simple yet...beautiful.
I sit in parked cars
watching strangers drive around
empty parking lots
looking for already empty parking spots
as the sun sets on what we
'today',
Oh dearest Will,
how I long to walk, barefoot
against the left over raindrops
from rainstorms that fall into the mountains.
How I was to be away from all the
overwhelming immaturity
danving in front of my eyes
dressed in silver linens.
I miss the days of
undeniable happiness
and being able to find
beauty in an overcast sky.
Where as here I have to struggle
to find the good things in some people.
They mean well, I know it,
but for to long they've been
blinded by the obscure view of the world
limited to,
"Fuck you, I'm cool"...
Fucking propaganda...
Obviously I'm ranting on about
the endless negativity.
Well fuck that, I won't live that way,
I'll just sit silently, pondering the
unobscured views from
midnight snack.
Love always & forever more,
Hilary
okay that's all i'm fucking writing for now..and that last poem is like mostly about my camp, camp celo...and will harmon was like one of my best friends there and he had this big ass crush on me but i was going out with james..oh well, he's like the fucking funniest person i've ever met!! well, i've gone through a whole FUCKING CD just doing this entry so i'm gonna jet, au revior and toodles!!
-h-
p.s.
all poems are © H.RAGIN '04 so don't fuck with them, they're mine, assholes!
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sleepy