We are the land with no culture where materialism rules
Where the tweeter of the free world diddles his thumbs mocking us
Voters queuing in line for the next big phone
We are a mockery on the world’s stage
When the curtains are drawn
We’re the actor that forgets his lines when its time
Our borders unite but we are a country divided
Liberals in line A-M, conservatives in line N-Z
All in line for the same show
There’s nothing more divisive than beliefs
A cop, a black and an illegal walk into a bar
But only the cop walks out. The shot the illegal when he caught her trying to rape the black…bullet must
have caught him too
But not to worry, it’s all on camera so the cop will be acquitted, he needed a vacation anyway
A judge imposed a sentence imprisoning a small time dope dealer, an embarrassment to the
He hung up his robe, then left work for the day
But didn’t go straight home. He needed to unwind before facing the wife and three kids. So instead he
met his friend at a remote motel where they took turns doing blow out of the crack of an escort’s ass.
When they were done, the prosecutor went one day, the judge went the other
The hooker’d still have court on Monday
No matter how you might emphasize, you still only see the world through your own eyes.
That’s why they stay clear when others might cry.
Or maybe it’s just because nothing is real to you anymore
You might be all dialed in, but you’re disconnected, all the same
Life doesn’t exist if not shining up at you from behind a LED lit screen
Why cry when you can swipe another’s pains so easily to the left
We live in the world of now. Grandma called it impatience
But whatever, it’s better this way
Everything you could want is at the tip of your finger
Lust, love and other intoxicating drugs, plus everything’s delivered. Then if you don’t like it just give it a
bad review on Yelp.
Work ethics, courtesy and virtues are for old people
Who wouldn’t want to live here and now?
Where a man could wear a dress and become woman of the year?
Where everyday hard working women were made to feel less without a fake ass or fake titties
Fake nails or fake hair?
Tell me…how is that fair?
Mr. Caged Bird,
Why do you sing? Perched so very proudly on that lone pine swing.
Taking in the world through that thin slatted metal, hoping your next meal will arrive on schedule.
You never seem to mind that old newspaper flooring, the same headlines screaming the same old stories. Be sprinkled with your droppings you care not how deploring, you chirp the same song through the night into morning.
Stupid little bird.
Don’t you ever shut up? Singing and singing and singing, I mean, really, what the fuck?
Don’t you know you’re in jail?
How are you so jolly?
When’s the last time that you got some polly?
Not that it’s important, but understand what I mean? Three hots and a cot? Was that really your dream?
Are you really satisfied with living in that cage? A winged groundhog reliving the same day?
Come on little bird, you’ve got to wake up.
That man with the keys doesn’t give a motherfuck.
The system is a business designed to make you comfortable; ensuring all your needs are met, you don’t even have to work for them.
Then before you know it you’ve grown complacent and then dependent and when they let you out you’ll neglect your life’s commitments.
There’s no recidivism when there’s rehabilitation.
Keep that in mind during your next visitation.
Little boys and girls with three hour fathers
And it’s normal to them, does that not make you bothered?
You’ve got to want ore, for you and for yours
Unlock the potential hidden behind your mind’s doors
Don’t allow that cage to dictate who you can and cannot be,
Life is what you make it, even on plan C.
When it’s all said and done, thank of what you’ll leave behind
Don’t be the little bird that never learned to fly.
Disability, be it manifested physically or mentally is only deemed as such by those who are considered to be normal, healthy, or sane or competent. Disability only plagues those who are uncomfortable by the stark or otherwise blatant differences between those labeled with the term of disabled, and those who are not. For the actual person behind those disabled eyes can often feel the very same emotions as the next “normal” person. He or she holds the same capacity to smile, to laugh. The same capacity to hurt or to cry. If one does not take the time to consider this, as is the general societal norm, the disabled become outcasts. Enter the judicial system. Here we all sit, garbed in blue, penning our intellectual, insightful thoughts down on paper, not a one of us I feel is disabled. However since we do happen to be garbed in blue, sitting on the other side of these razor wire fences, in the inferior position of inmate. Once we leave this place, we will undoubtedly be stigmatized as disabled. By society, strangers we will encounter in passing and will never meet, even amongst loved ones or those you’ve once held dear. Looked at, considered, but then passed over for job positions like bruised tomatoes in the produce section of the supermarket, set against those who are clean. Because of the stark reality of our records now as much a part of us as our shadows. No longer normal, but disabled.
Little ones, in life you will find that some people never grow up. They get big and tall but stay little on the inside. Do you remember your teaching telling you to be kind to others? Well some never get that lesson. They stay selfish and act as if the only important things in life, the only things that matter are the things that mean something to them. And they don’t consider, or think about other people’s feelings. Imagine the meanest kids in school telling you how to play, when to play and who you can play with, how to eat, when to eat and who to eat with. And if you didn’t listen then they would hurt you. Imagine trying your best to still be nice to them, trying your best to show them another way. A way that would be better for everybody, and then imagine these mean kids getting even more mean, because you spoke your mind. Told them how they made you feel. It’s sort of like that. When two groups disagree, and one group has the upper hand, or biggest, strongest kids, they get to make the rules while the smaller group does their best to reason to compromise with them. When you disagree with something and feel other should also disagree with that thing, don’t be upset that people might not share your feelings. Because it’s okay, they have their own and don’t have to. Just don’t participate or do whatever it is you disagree with. Understand?
Prison is the home wayward teens runaway from. A home out of which you seek emancipation. Home is where the heart is, and in this place I’ve a dried husk in its stead. My pulse is non-existent, I am figuratively dead.
Which way is up? Are my feet on the ground? I’ve been kidnapped for years but now feel more lost than I do found. This day is what I’ve dreamt of, the day that I’ve longed for. What purpose might I have now? No longer a medic in the Air Force. Will I be a good father? Do I know how to be? Do I jump right in or ease my way back into my kid’s lives, the good Lord knows I want to do this right. I’ve been absent, but I’ve called. I’ve called and I’ve called…nevermind these fears just be there and fill that void your absence has caused.
You make the wise man dense.
You surge through veins as a potent narcotic, crippling all logic and reason.
You are a drop of black dye in a clear glass of water, seeping steadily into
Loving hearts until chaos is all they can see.
You are a handicap to those ensnared by your ways, a blemish upon
You work tirelessly to bring discord between family and friends,
Whites and Blacks.
Between Hilarious Trumpeteers…
Between those who serve and those who abide.
Surely you are nature’s birth defect, for what good have we for you?
Your divisive ways?
There are no twelve step, or management courses designed to quell the effects
No need for apologies after acting out in its passion.
With you comes havoc and disunity, pains and strife.
You blind us to the peaceful ways by which we might settle our differences.
To the ways by which we might all enjoy this life.
You won’t be happy until we are all at way,
Battling it out until we’ve forgotten what it’s all even for.
There’s an astigmatism to your vision,
Your sight is untrue.
When you look up remember,
That through that haze of red,
The sky is really blue.
“What did we discuss?”
“I… I can’t. I can’t do it.” I sagged my head as reluctant tears streamed my cheeks.
The suit exhaled painfully, playing his fingers along the handle of his silver tipped cane. He spun it carefully, burrowing its end into the black shagged carpet while studying me with an unwavering eye. The beats that he remained silent were a pain to me, his quiet a dense fog clouding the space between us, inching into my nostrils choking me until at last he spoke.
“You are weak, a disappointment to me.”
“Please, I… anything else, anything.” I looked up allowing myself to look fully upon him for the first time, the pleading stark in my eyes. He seemed an apparition in his black tailored suit set against the black suede of the couch he lounged on, an illusion to my eye he blended so well. Everything in the room was of one color, if not glass or silvered metal. The suit said it bespoke class. Elegance. Silver framed mirrors hung on black, wood slatted walls with sleek glass paneling marking their divide within the room.
An end table sat before me with an array of chromed tools set precisely on a reflective silver tray in the middle. I willed myself not to study them for fear of conveying to him the anxiety they gave me.
The suit seemed to swallow his fury, He blinked, willing himself patient. “It will be what we agreed upon.”
“But I – ”
“Enough!” the suit burst out.
I tensed, holding my breath, so frightened was I to move.
The suit adjusted his tie. Cleared his throat. A gentleman must never lose his head.
“Ahem… It seems you are misunderstanding of your obligation” said the suit, “You are to do what I prefer you to do, to act when I tell you to act.”
To this I could offer no argument. I simply sat receiving his scold.
The suit pressed his lips, “I’d hoped, Mr. Tullis, that it would not come to this. Unfortunately you have forced my hand. You need to be cleansed. We must purge you of this prideful weakness. You will learn to be obedient.”
“Please…” I begged, “I – ”
“Remove your shirt.” He ordered. The two of us locked eyes, “Do not make me ask twice.”
I discarded my jacket and placed my cane on the cushion beside me, then loosened the knot of my tie, whipping it free of my collar before undoing my silver cufflinks. I tugged the shirt from my waistband and unfastened its buttons, welcoming the air’s cool kiss against my bare skin. The shirt landed in a crumpled heap on the floor covering the Italian leather wrapped around my feet.
My palms began to moisten as I awaited further instruction.
“Have you seen my tools, Mr. Tullis?” The suit asked me. My eyes glanced them briefly before looking away. “I’ve noticed how you avoid them. A pity really, it’s such a marvelous collection.”
The anticipation of the unknown brought sweat to my brow.
“So many choices…” said the suit, the consternation dressing his face, “You’ve got your ice pick… the straight razor, an homage to Sweeney Todd that one, vise grips… all sterile mind you, fear not.” The suit drummed his fingers along his chin. “Hmm, which will it be?”
My eyes followed as his words directed, my pulse bounding as he detailed his inventory. I stopped when I reached a glass beaker containing a mysterious green liquid. Poison? Would he have me to poison myself?
“Rubbing alcohol. Mentholated.” He said. I looked up. “Your eyes asked for you. Ah, here we are… you shall use the pizza cutter. Yes, Mr. Tullis, if you please, take up that pizza cutter.”
I took a deep breath, then obediently reached out with my left hand.
“Ah ah, right hand please.”
I grasped its gleaming handle with a sweaty palm.
“You will start at the clavicle. Begin.”
I applied the cool metal to my skin. Its edge was so sharp it felt soft.
“Do it right, or God help you.”
I wheeled the blade down my pectoral and around my cold hardened nipple. I could see the thin ruby line before I felt it. The sting only came as my skin loosened, splitting to reveal the sinewy flesh beneath. My nipple folded over then cascaded from my torso landing flat on the table before me. A little brown suction cup adhering to the glass.
I continued to wind the cutter over the ridge of my abdominals, rolling it around my outpoking belly button. Down along my hip, across my waist, cropping the pubic curls peeking from behind my waistband. Bits of skin flopped aloose, falling to join my nipple as I doubled back, retracing and forging new paths with that blade. What skin remained intact seeped thin rivulets of capillaric blood.
“That is enough.” Seemingly satisfied, the suit directed me to place the pizza cutter back in its place.
I started up, but the suit sat me forcefully down.
“The cutting was enough, Mr. Tullis. I did not say we were done. Though you are competently opened, you’ve yet to be cleansed. The first step was necessary, as changes in our character must be made from the inside out. With your inside now clearly visible, this lesson will more aptly stick. It will be ingrained in you, healing in scars of braille along your ravished skin.”
I perspired profusely as I sat, my nerve endings aflame as my skin hung open. The salt in my sweat dripped from my face down into my wound, burning my sensitized flesh.
“Look in the drawer there, search out the window cleaner.”
I did as I was told, grabbing the spray bottle.
“Very good. Now, loosen the cap and discard its contents.”
The blue liquid made a small lake on the glass table before thinning and running over the edges, sinking into the carpet.
“Now pour the contents of the beaker into the emptied bottle.”
My heart thudded in my chest as I urinated the green liquid into the hollow bottle, then rescrewed the spray nozzle.
“Twist the cap until it is set to mist… I don’t believe I have to tell you what comes next.”
I held my breath, my eyes crying fresh tears as I aimed the bottle at my chest and pulled its red trigger. My sinuses cleared as the menthol floated into the air, cooling my nostrils. I inhaled deeply, my ribs stretching even further my butchered skin as they expanded to fill my lungs with air. My nerves throbbed with the burn as I squeezed and sprayed, my heart beating the pain all the way down to my fingertips until I grew faint, finally dropping the bottle. The pain was unlike any other I’d ever felt, like how a snail must feel after an evil child showered it with Morton’s table salt, as if my innards had liquefied and spilled out of me. I’m unsure of how long I’d been gone, but when I came to my blood had congealed, comingling with the sap-like pus of the growing infection festering in my wounds.
The dropped spray bottle had cracked open, seeping its green blood onto my discarded shirt. I could feel the wet through my shoes and polyester socks.
I looked toward the far wall and into the mirror before me and was met with the suit’s piercing gaze.
“Have you learned, Mr. Tullis, your lesson?” he asked.
“Y-Yes, master.” I replied weakly.
“Will you now do what it is you’ve been tasked to do?”
I studied the suit’s features before I answered, took in the sweat on his brow, and the ugly blistering of his exposed skin. He surveyed me as I him, awaiting patiently my response.
“Yes, master.” I said, “Yes, I will.”