This demographics warfare
Night after night
Mic after mic
Across the country
Labels collected and struggles hoarded
In the battle of 'who's more repressed?'
But before you rush the stage
With hisses and fruits
Hear why my poem is that of the ugly kind
I am sick of these poems
As I am sick with these poems
Each of them bargaining with empathy
And playing to a crowd
With an optimistic faith in common sense
And humanity
And each of the perfectly placed punctuations
Begs for a slice of my heart
Directly proportional in size
To the amount of disparities and demographics
I have no choice but to give into them
As each poetry lives to tell a story
Of pain and longevity
Waiting in line to a room full of heart butchers
Ready at their slicers
Only one voice could possibly be missing
The voice of the room
Whole and unified
Fighting sighs and indifferences
Giving way to a struggle cliche-d into the
Hippie term 'revolution'
Fuck it.
Call it what you will
But it's not Armageddon
It's simply the poets Collecting our Works
To understand the level of empathy we
All seek in others
Is too in ourselves
The underlying passion is an adventure
Seeker with a hound dog scent of camaraderie
I am sick with these poems
My own tally-marked demographic novels in tow
Bring to me what I'll bring to you
Immigrants helping rape victims
Children of abuse racing for the cure
Inner-city victims of the deepest strands of racist tensions
Plowing through the rover-red-rover lines of language barriers
Gay feminist vegan Pagan naturalists
Devoting more time to the halt of genital mutilation abroad
Than they do to their own PETA-driven causes
The penniless building monuments
To the women who got the vote
See each other
As the poem in your hand
And heal the sick
with
these poems.
