Last week I went to see the big game. And everyone was there. The N’gina family from 2 doors down, The Cheng family from across the street, The guys I see going to the mosque sometimes, The ladies who always greet me when I’m on my job shift, Even the guys I saw at the pride march last week.
I see a world of colour on the other side, While I sit on mine, amidst a white sea of like-minded men.
As the game plays on, my team’s winning. It’s so clear they’re cheating, but nothing goes noticed by the ref, Who calls out members of the other team for nothing.
Soon, the game’s over. We won by a landslide. The other fans are so proud of their team, and of themselves.
A little too proud. One man spits and swears at Mr N’gina, making monkey noises. Another makes buck teeth at Mrs. Cheng, speaking in a mock Asian accent. Some more shout abuse at the guys from the mosque, and at the pride-march guys. And another man shouts at the nice ladies from the shop, Telling them to get back in the kitchen. And as I sit among these people, None of their victims react. None of them hit back.
And as for me, I feel nothing but shame for our undeserved victory, And the undeserved abuse given by my fellow fans.
My muse is like an excitable dog. It catches sight of totally random things and starts yapping and running around and wagging its tail and WILL NOT STOP until I write a poem about it.My poetry is sometimes based on personal experience and sometimes on other things. Aside from that, I enjoy video games (My favourite game series is Mass Effect) and the popular television show My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.
The world has shrunk. Have sex in half-black bipartisan calculations. Ripping apart, no body was naked inside the costume. I was too wakeful under the ventilator. They were killing me methodically. It was theatrical. White gowns and blue gowns. Only
They are money hungry actors Greed has them all backwards They get richer every time your back hurts They are ruthless heartless bastards So they disregard all the hazards Gain money, power, and control is their mission In hopes that
She was four and I was six. We held hands and ate pixie stix. The big head little girl whom followed me around the corner. Soon we became friends. We held hands with skin like bricks. I cleansed her hands