a word to the passive

a-word-to-the-passive
Dear children,
this is for you,
or adults who haven’t grown up too.

Don’t let them tell you not to be angry.
This un-sagely advice,
has promised the owners of this world,
a safety and comfort to continue with their oppression.

Anger is the fuel for change.

They want to contain your rage,
bottle discomfort in a cage,
not let you feel outrage,
keep you living on the same page,
they want to stop you from the engage .

They want to control what you feel,
tell you how to do it,
preferably not do it at all.
keep your ability to think, to rise up,
to fight against the system –
small –
staring down a hall,
don’t listen to them,
that’s not tunnel vision,
That…… is some seriously heavy anger.

Staring down a hall is Prozac,
it’s Ritalin,
it’s the myriad of other psychotropics,
that numb you,
dumb you,
succumb you,
to the lifeless blank eyes that aren’t you.

They want to suck you,
quell you,
until you don’t know yourself,
and they can sell you,
a new you,
a happy you,
a team player,
not a naysayer,
a yes sir, no sir, not yes ma’am, no ma’am,
because that would not play into their plans.

God Forbid you should listen to a woman,
because the perfume of the womb that bore you,
can’t be scrubbed off,
but they want to cut you from that too.

Angry?
Have you seen a woman in labour?
She can be whatever the fuck she wants,
loving, kind, hurt, angry, angry as fuck,
so angry she can punch a 5 kg being out of a 5 cm hole.
That’s fucking anger manifest!
Don’t tell me angry is not beautiful.

Anger, is your fuel,
it is what will keep you inspired to change,
to fight,
to not stand for trampling of others rights,
to stay up late at nights,
write a stanza or two,
or watch five movies in a row,
until you arrive at the answer you were looking for.

Best of all,
anger shows you still feel something inside,
even if that anger is misplaced,
it can be redirected to something fruitful.

They want you to tone down your words and not use expletives,
and then they’d always find a troll of a white male,
or female with a principal like tone in their voice,
telling you how to say it.

Like ‘go fuck yourself’ isn’t expressive enough for them to understand,
sorry ‘entice yourself to a session of  lovemaking with your hand’
just doesn’t cut it.

So fuck off,
or my anger will magically morph from between lips,
to between clenched fists.

W.E.

Cluttered mind

image

They told me, go for a walk, get some shut eye, clear your mind.
FOOLS!
What would they know? Mindless drivel at it’s best because what they don’t realise is, I don’t want my mind cleared.

No, I’m quite happy lingering in these thoughts, sifting through the web of confusion, the echoes of pain that percuss off the valleys and mountains of my soul, haunting it with a northerly wind carrying the scent of uncertainty, through rocks, rustling restless leaves until they settle on the garden beds of meadows and compost into the soil of my heart.

I’ll sit right here in this corner, away enough for you to not be the piece of furniture in your way, quite content to have these thoughts punishing me, rummaging through my being enticing every cell of my body to engage in recreating memories or forging the future.

What you don’t realise is that clearing your mind is emptying your soul of substance.

Pain is there to help you grow.

Confusion is there to help you figure things out, to allow your brain to exercise.

Sadness is there so you may elate in the joy and know it’s value when it hits you in the front teeth, lest you remain an ingrate.

The voices are there not because you’re a schizophrenic, but because they’re meant to keep you company and offer you another perspective to the one you harbour in your heart, be it at the opposite end of the spectrum or merely a few inches away from where your thoughts currently reside, still you need something off course to correct your path and purify it.

Anger is there to keep you on your toes, alert so you never sway from clarity of purpose.

Whatever it is, don’t be a numb and mindless drone, subservient to the commands of the mundane. Ride the edge of your character and crack its whip until your fingers bleed or your mind annihilates.
-ME