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Beyond the Wailing Graves...A poem
If it takes a man to be a dad
Does that mean my mother is still a virgin?
How is it that prepubescent children are giving birth?
I would spit on someone’s grave if it would make it better.
I would scream out loud if it would be listened to.
Cramped up and dying.
Thinking of suicide
Because then someone might see my own grave.
A martyr searching for a pillow
On this rock bed that I am supposed to cherish.
People with white skin
From Utah of all places
Come and talk about substance.
Rejects from Detroit are famous now.
Orrin Hatch is my hero
If only for talking about what matters.
I could forget that he would call me a sinner.
Jews say this is okay
Just not as good.
Orthodox bitches
Tell me what is true.
Then with insensitivity
I blow up.
Adults, adults.
I guess that is what I am
When I forget my childhood
And what they are
When they forgot
To end their own childhood.
This ignorance
That they preach.
Preach comfort,
Yell at the sinner
Who saw truth.
Cum in my mouth
And then tell me about men.
Impregnate yourself
If abortion
Could be likened to suicide
In Gods eyes
Which looks beyond the wailing graves.
