Foreign
So foreign to this place.
There is absolutely no grace.
Just this disgraceful disgrace
Individuals ... so unaware,
Unalert,
So fake.. unbelievable.. unheard
What's this altered trend
Multitudinous of eyes that don't see,
Hearts that feel but deny to live...
...
Where's the ones I belong to?
Ones I will smile to be just next to
Maybe I need a dose of 'normalness'
To accept this mess...
As me and rest are not friends.
It all may aswell be in my hands.
...
No help. One way is to free my 'foreigness'
From when we leave the womb, said Freud (or Jung),
until the day we die, life's one long try
to climb back in. That cold air hits our lungs
with such a shock, we cannot help but cry.
Her name was Pina. She could twirl her skirt
impressively. One evening, home alone,
twirling her nylon nightdress, unalert,
she caught the flames. That fireplace was a zone
forbidden her, but how could she resist
the warmth and light the gaping chasm offered?
The fabric wrinkled, melted, shriveled, hissed
and bunched between her thighs. She must have suffered.
A young, bewildered altar boy back then,
I watched her mother rage and rail and rave,
unhinged by grief. It took six burly men
to hold her back from leaping in the grave.
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