Ripping The Screen
peel back the corner of my television
see the grid laid over the lies
truth subjugated in its own demise
a playing field for those who think they’re gods
order of stealth, hoarder of wealth
sitting on the other side of the desk
staring straight into our eyes
camera lens of surprise trying to gain a rise
a raise in pay, laying waste to the pain of a nation
governmental centralization
erasing headlines, bylines, stations
public broadcasting traded for corporate obligation
product placement specifications
coffee for the newscaster, coke for the talking head
rambling on about existential dread
as if my emotions aren’t already dead
flip the channel, tune into low brow junk instead
laugh tracks telling me when to clap
commercials demanding i buy into that
cut the cord, keep the core
i’m not buying what they’re selling anymore
every channel is a chore
every anchor is a war
but i’m wired for the wild
for the raw, for the roar
for the truth that slips
through the static on the floor
bending rabbit ears, picking up new signals
wider bands of wit, kick drums and wine
it happens all the time
a journey into my mind, battle drawn lines
truth divided into dime bags of deceit
drugs for the elite
mass-consumption radio’s dreaded sounds
neat little segments of hate filled speech
cut the cord, keep the core
i’m not buying what they’re selling anymore
every channel is a chore
every anchor is a war
but i’m wired for the wild
for the raw, for the roar
for the truth that slips
through the static on the floor
pod casts by patron saints of woe
telling me it’s safer if i go straight to hell
than stand on a stage built for girls
who look like heroin dealer dreams
and boys built like bipedal poles of tortured pride
never wanted a bride, just to be calm inside
no anxiety, no regret, no more mother knows best
they hit the airwaves with their disdain
diluted grace, tainted with distaste
infecting the frequencies with rage
cut the cord, keep the core
i’m not buying what they’re selling anymore
every channel is a chore
every anchor is a war
but i’m wired for the wild
for the raw, for the roar
for the truth that slips
through the static on the floor
when the signal thins, i hear the sin beneath the spin
static patterns forming a wail
you, the consumer, up for sale
watch the trauma of a life in peril
the girl trapped in a well
the army captain who fell
i see it all in daytime shine
sunlight burning an over exposed frame
a documentation of pain
i rip off the black screen of disfigurement
searching for the real, the honest, the true
i need something other than regurgitated cable news
i want the story, the hidden glory
of people who bleed to keep another from going under
this is no game of telephone
context is my true stimulation
not the false adrenaline of green screen news scenes
blackhawk down and a newborn baby in a trash bin
behind the house of the people
like jesus waiting for his steeple
cut the cord, keep the core
i’m not buying what they’re selling anymore
every channel is a chore
every anchor is a war
but i’m wired for the wild
for the raw, for the roar
for the truth that slips
through the static on the floor
i can’t take it anymore
this endless cycle of disinformation
segregating me from honest communal formation
the price of truth keeps climbing with inflation
and i’m left paying for a world
that sold its own foundation
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
