Well meaning humans
friends and family members
tell me to write a novel
something I can get paid for
They ask if I write
if I write at all
if I do, why don’t I show it
to them
they say with ups at the ends of the words
I mumble about the poem
about the line
about when I sit down and write
a poem I do what
I can and hope
their war will be lost
on my ability to write a
decent poem
Of course I have a lot of
horse shit that I don’t
finger until it becomes apart
of my identity but the
process of writing a poem
I’ve put everything in
I’ve excepted
that I will never get drinks or licks
in exchange for my poems
But if I don’t write these bloody
stumps, if I don’t fuck on the mother
tongue and smear her ideologies
in my gruesome fantasies
her neat and organized world
may beat out the orgasmic
and thirsty
Annieepoetry 