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GET REAL

I’M TIRED OF LIVING OUTDOORS!

ME AND MILLIONS AND MILLIONS OF OTHERS!

DO ANY OF THE BILLIONS AND BILLIONS OF YOU MOTHERFUCKERS CARE?

ANY OF YOU?

IS THERE EVEN ONE SINGLE TINY LITTLE ROOM
ANYWHERE AMONG YOU
WITH ENOUGH RELIEF FROM YOUR

GODDAMN PERPETUAL MEDIA’S
AGONIZED SCREAMING

WITHOUT YOUR FUCKING NEVER-ENDING
PETTY MISERY-CREATING LITTLE POWER PLAYS
PUT DOWNS
AND ONE UPMANSHIP

WITHOUT CONSTANTLY
CONSTANTLY
CONSTANTLY
MOVING ASIDE (COUNT ‘EM)
SEVENTEEN
PIECES OF CLOTHING
EVERY THREE MINUTES

TO KEEP WORKING?

BECAUSE I’M SICK, YOU KNOW:
DIS
ABLED

IN
PERPETUAL
PAIN

AND OLD:
NEARLY SIXTY

AND A WOMAN
A WOMAN
A WOMAN, GODDAMN IT

CREATED TO CREATE BEAUTY
CREATED TO CELEBRATE ABUNDANCE
CREATED TO SMILE AT YOU
FIRST THING IN THE MORNING

WHEN
GUESS WHAT?

AFTER A LIFETIME OF ASKING
PRAYING
BEGGING FOR IT IN SELF-PITYING
TEARS

WHEN IT’S REALLY THERE FOR YOU

YOU
DON’T
EVEN
WANT
TO
SEE IT
BEFORE COFFEE

GET REAL

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Ana Daksina View All →

A poet is the strangest sort of soul
You in this life may e'er expect to meet
More broken even while more truly whole,
Innocently intending well, more sweet

Than any but a five year old should be
Unfit to meet a callused world's demand
Or to behave aught expediently
All grace in flight; an albatross on land

Do not the all too common error make
Do not fall into the too easy trap
Avoid the fatal egoic mistake
Imagining that poet be a sap

Powerful spirits classic and antique
Give voice when poets ope their mouths to speak

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