Bitter Cynicism Again
Some of you have seen this before; it has been changed a bit. I feel like making excuses for it...So I shall. :-P
~ It is overwritten...because it is too emotional.
~ The ending isn't right. I don't know why, but it isn't.
~ I'm not actually this bitter. Right now. :-P
My Perfect World
White-wash over
the all but enslaved illegal immigrants.
I need my high-fat, low-nutrient food,
my shiny new Nike shoes,
a tourist industry that functions.
We abolished slavery with
the Emancipation Proclamation.
Plaster over the segregated,
urban, suburban, exurban communities.
I need my falsely safe, white streets,
my cookie-cutter closed communities,
my children never to have to deal with anyone different from themselves.
Everyone knows minorities cause crime -- look at the prisons.
They could get rid of their problems
if they really wanted to,
worked hard enough,
pulled themselves up by their bootstraps like all good Americans.
Board over the world's poor,
working for less than a living wage.
I need my Starbucks espresso,
my Abercrombie sweater,
my J. Crew jeans,
my chocolate candybars.
They wouldn't be working in the factories
if they could do better elsewhere.
We're giving their children
a jump-start in the workforce.
Brick over those dying in other countries,
18 year-old soldiers, women, children, students, people like me.
I need others to die
horribly, violently, painfully
defending me.
I need everyday civilians of skin colors different than mine
to die in the name of fighting terrorism -- collateral damage.
They'll be happier anyway when we free them from their
constraining, traditional, non-functioning governments
with our Western, imperialist, whiteman democracy.
I live in a matrix
and all I see is what I want to see.
What backs am I walking on??
I don't owe anything to anyone;
I got here by my own hard work and ability.
But one day
the tell-tale beating heart will come.
'Till I must tear away
the wall-boards, the floorboards, the pretty painted colors,
all the things covering
the hideously decomposing dead thing with a living, beating heart
my world is built upon.
And what will I do then
as the walls come tumbling down...?
~ It is overwritten...because it is too emotional.
~ The ending isn't right. I don't know why, but it isn't.
~ I'm not actually this bitter. Right now. :-P
My Perfect World
White-wash over
the all but enslaved illegal immigrants.
I need my high-fat, low-nutrient food,
my shiny new Nike shoes,
a tourist industry that functions.
We abolished slavery with
the Emancipation Proclamation.
Plaster over the segregated,
urban, suburban, exurban communities.
I need my falsely safe, white streets,
my cookie-cutter closed communities,
my children never to have to deal with anyone different from themselves.
Everyone knows minorities cause crime -- look at the prisons.
They could get rid of their problems
if they really wanted to,
worked hard enough,
pulled themselves up by their bootstraps like all good Americans.
Board over the world's poor,
working for less than a living wage.
I need my Starbucks espresso,
my Abercrombie sweater,
my J. Crew jeans,
my chocolate candybars.
They wouldn't be working in the factories
if they could do better elsewhere.
We're giving their children
a jump-start in the workforce.
Brick over those dying in other countries,
18 year-old soldiers, women, children, students, people like me.
I need others to die
horribly, violently, painfully
defending me.
I need everyday civilians of skin colors different than mine
to die in the name of fighting terrorism -- collateral damage.
They'll be happier anyway when we free them from their
constraining, traditional, non-functioning governments
with our Western, imperialist, whiteman democracy.
I live in a matrix
and all I see is what I want to see.
What backs am I walking on??
I don't owe anything to anyone;
I got here by my own hard work and ability.
But one day
the tell-tale beating heart will come.
'Till I must tear away
the wall-boards, the floorboards, the pretty painted colors,
all the things covering
the hideously decomposing dead thing with a living, beating heart
my world is built upon.
And what will I do then
as the walls come tumbling down...?