Loser
LOSER
my parents
taught me to walk and they made me crawl
taught me to talk and they said be quiet
they tormented my mind to slay my imagination
their vociferations of scrawny advice
a fragmentation of a thought hospitalized
getting ready
for a more robust job
to mock my ideals
*
my teachers
taught me to write and they cut off my thoughts
taught me to read and they took away my books
taught me geography and they pointed the enemy
they were radiant
with a vivacious
inconsistent preaching
that curdled with every word
and left me
tired
hungry
cold
*
my leaders
taught me to love my country and they gave me political slogans
taught me history and they didn’t want me a hero
they torture my body to kill my will to live
trashed my humanity to build in me the hate
forced me on my knees to slobber on my head
they put me with criminals to teach me how to kill
they destroyed my files to erase my existence
they spitted me out naked and hopeless
my parents, my teachers, my leaders
a spiteful reminder
that I should squirm
in front of their frying words
and the meaningless guilt grabs me
insipid
achromatic
odorless
still there
pressing
pushing
drowning thoughts
they planned my life and I chose freedom
*
I don’t have old parents
to care for and to cry
over their shrinking bodies
I don’t have roots
shoved around as a leaf in the wind
caressing the ground
but I am part of a tree
I’m a nomad
unwelcomed writer
with tired wrinkled eyes
holding old forgotten songs
of love and hate
waddling to the kitchen
for a hot green tea
I write fossilized verses
the murmur of a thought
a tribulation to the language
common sense and logic
repulsive notions
I drown in verbalism
wasting my soul’s value
atom by atom
while I wait
to grow white wings
but my heart and arms
are in breakable cast
I am a loser
with cardboard ideas
and I project my mobility in a short poem
charged with captive gods
yeah, I’m a loser
and that’s fine with me.
Copyright © Adriana Thompson | Year Posted 2016
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