A poem in honor of Coretta Scott King, who didn't get to deserve it. Except for not getting two some more. She so much as shook hands with Corona Aquino, she's branded. As a total hopeless drunk, on beer for life, due to parentage. She's a success, I'm not somehow. Or, I'm what I should have been without deserving it, an even bigger success. If it comes that way, is it worthwhile?
Years later? It's all due to parentage, every time. Not your Mom, nor your Dad, and drugs are what you grow up on in the womb. No drugs, no Life itself...WORMS. Large, icky helmsmen, hopefully pig feed doesn't contain absolutely everything. Or if it does, do they take revenge in your worm, I mean womb, which one is it, the chicken or the fag? Obvious. Not Captain. I'm not on anything but something "called" methamphetamine and I can't recommend it to you.
Make up your own self. Do without, and love them for what they did for you. Mine are Gone. It's why I think I'm Batman anymore, I knew I'd lose them while I was still young. Forever.
Be a genius without drugs
Advice a Black Man forever gave me:Caffeine is a sibilant hiss
From a female snake...I got as far as this.
Alcohol is a miserable pit
That when you climb, your stubby fingers
Finally wear down to the backs of your hands.
A "male" trip that's God and shits Red.
The Black man advised me about heroin. It isn't one, and it does far worse. To you. Make you think you're a genius, and when you tape the recording sessions, you find out otherwise.
Dr. King smoked, drank and saw prostitutes. Gee, who doesn't? Name 'em all. Right now. Now, everybody has to get off all drugs, because maybe I have a problem with them. Invisible man, you must quit drinking coffee, eating sugar, and imbibing white bread. Well, two can play at that game, wow, some game. A game called names that it never will be.
I am still trying to get off caffeine, after cigarettes, pot, acid, sex, phenobarbital, yellow jackets, hash brownies, psych mess, and the only two that help me, aspirin and balladry...small groups of white boys/men pitching it to me that the thing to be is on drugs, individual women telling me to live on an Indian reservation and to never have children...the list is endless.
Hitler tried to get me to be a good person. I'm still wondering what the sick joke is. Torture, perhaps, such as drowning while trying to break up to the surface of the water. You spend forever down there, looking up, trying to make it to where there is air. Air is for Breathing, Bill Cosby.
Meanwhile, I have asthma. Life is all I've got, and then I die. Who is the bitch? Maybe it's me, but that's called paranoia...a word I never invented, and not all by myself. Ho is not a good idea if it's only 51% of the human race, with 1% being male mostly or so. Feel sorry for that one percent, they have very little company. Very short company. My poem got lost on the way here, it started with "Caffeine is a sibilant hiss from a female snake..." and then I had to remember what sibilant is based upon. It's uh, "His Story." He may be sorry someday, but I doubt it much.
Sibilant sister caffeine
Still a hiss from a female snake
That bites without fangs, and only with teeth
Reaching in deep to never let you go.
If I don't stop, I will come down with full-blown asthma anyway.
Makes me not care about you, I guess.
Alcohol is a blazing pit
That takes a climb up the very sides
And strips all the skin off both your palms,
Leaving you bleeding while stoned.
Gone completely before you die.
Rape, perversion, incest...her father was a drunk. Thus, that.
By the time you've been on drugs for years,
The echo of Michael Jackson says: only tears.
Hidden, invisible tears called boredom
And burnt-out years of exhaustion
Even among the Nazis (the real ones)
From trying to fight a female snake,
Called my Mother, who reproduced a caffeine-headed cobra me.
She too, she died of cancer from drinking coffee.
We are blameless and genetically programmed.
So there will be more medical experiments.
People will die from trying to be good.
So did my first husband.
In a hidden way, so hidden it is impregnably invisible and thus nonexistent.
Of multiple sclerosis from psychiatric medication. Plural. Single is caffeine, the one that drags you into every other drug invented by Man...ah, betel juice.
Who care? Ganja and weed and good ol' Chinese black tea. Goners are goners, so...what.