Rant 4

Dedicated to mother and father for their genes they so graciously passed down to me.

Life is...

Like spiders skittering on open eyes,

fingers familiarized with ice skates,

or hooked pry bars

trying to bleed my nostrils

--twisting, insisting that--

Life is ...

like cheese graters berating

this thin mask of skin

I call a face,

or trying to face an inquisitive call

from a nail-salon where they

replay the Spanish Inquisition by

eating spoonfuls of toenails

and turtle shells

doused in light fluid

or using lube to shove

a yellow brick up your a*s,

while doing hurtles

on the side of the road

all the while yelling:

"There's no place like Home!"

But if home is where

the heart is then isn't

spending all day

in the same class

with the same desk,

same lecture,

same packet

with the same scribbles and doodles

encrypted like Egyptian hieroglyphic

allergic reactions like

snorting Benadryl

and chewing on

cough drops and tums,

or toiling away

by filing our teeth on tin foil

and washing it down

with glue and rum,

as in sorting rummy cubes

according to the rheumy views

of the thrift store walking dead/

talking heads,

all about "Macklemore, Macklemore!"

rocking beds

and docking lead pencils

in pimples about to burst

with Ryan Louis' pus and

hustling p*****s for their

imitation Gucci wallets

and intimidating wall flowers

into pollenating

and peeling the wall paper

away to show

the bleeding organs beneath,

the pleading orphans underneath

the table

and hidden in the closet,

listening quietly

as robbers plunder

dirty toilet scrubbers

and used plungers,

going dumpster diving

wearing scuba gear

and delving into dungeons

made into hostels,

hospitals,

and harems?

Underground

under-the-table operations

and all over-the-counter

prescription medications

and spilled eye glasses

spelling out that

the doctors and nurses

sitting on their asses

are drinking fluoridated water

from dirty chalices

in their pristine palaces,

getting drunk off

the leftover treasure,

another man's junk

deciding whether or not

to turn the music up

and the noise down

while we're

going through town

crowded with clowns

and brown-nosers

and hipster posers

posing

for their picture

to be featured

on the new cover

of Life magazine.

Now we've gone full circle

and the effect's still the same

but the cause is still as futile

as this fertile resistance

of milk and honey

that we revere,

the non-existing revolution

as Paul Revere

keeps revolving around

screaming "The British Are Coming!"

but the victims are running

to the hills as soundlessly

as in "The Hills are Alive with--",

The Hills Have Eyes,

but the plains in Spain

still get rain mainly

like ring around the rosy,

a pocket full of posy,

ashes to ashes,

dust to dust,

I will fear no evil,

hear no evil,

seek no evil

as I walk through

the Valley of Death

naked

and I don't fear the Reaper

but am still stuck on the couch

smoking the reefer

madness

still believing in Easter,

Frank the Bunny,

and Christian values,

battling pacifist cannibals

that value life like

carnivorous coniferous

forests filled with Ewoks

smoking crack rocks

and cracking rock and roll codes

left behind by

The Empire and cloud 9!

(Be sure to smile!)

Almost done now, 

it'll only be a minute,

time's all we got

and the sky is still the limit,

because I was put on HOLD

by the SUICIDE HOTLINE

and this room's a little too dark,

too cold,

as I'm telling Dr. Seuss

about my red hands

and how I'm feeling blue,

but I'm sure so are you,

so why don't we just get to

the point and stop

beating around the bush?

Light that b***h on fire

and say I I.M.d Zeus

or Neptune

and continue on this odyssey,

not 2001, more like

"O' Brother Where Art Thou?"

Worshipping American Idol,

the biggest golden cow

since the dollar bill

that keeps dipping,

but I still got to pay the bills,

but the banks keep trying to get Richie Rich

until I scream "I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!"

And my dad says to quit bitching,

my boss says to quit ditching out

on work, on bullshit

I shouldn't even consider

wasting my time on,

but the kids need to eat dinner

and I was never much of a winner,

so I post it on twitter,

but,

I'm used to being a loser,

so I've been loving on a pole dancer

ever since 

I found myself on the bottom

of the totem

but I never quit preaching,

never quit reaching out

and speaking out

against the injustice league,

not the pros or big ballers,

just the recreational players,

the ones who can still hear my cries

as that spider lays eggs in my eyes

because I had a thousand yard stare

as he skittered across my universe,

he got lost

when he couldn't decide what to wear

and my compass only points to Out There

and 

In Nowhere,

Kansas,

where my childhood could manifest.

Destiny's a b***h

and fate's a lying w***e,

and God's sitting back,

drinking beer

in an old, faded lawn chair

with his feet up on the desk,

but what does that have to do with a raven?

But I think I've been ravin'

for too long by now,

thank you if you made it this far,

because I got lost

looking for Him/him in myself

but

I was just trying to tell you:

how 

Life is like...

Author's Note

Got to say... this one turned out a lot longer than I originally planned. But... it may very well be my best. This single-spaced words are clues :D

Reviews

[Paper-Pen-Princess]

interesting...and definatly a "Rant"
You had me in the first two lines, after that I could'nt hang in there with you.

[John]

It got better towards the end, I promise :)
With my rants come reason, sometimes rhymes, but almost always my own personal rhetoric.

[Kelsey]

All I can think to say is "wow." This was just amazing. Wonderful job, as always. x

[Cecilia Marie]

The feelings speak. This poem has real depth, 20,000 leagues under the sea depth.

[John]

Thank you so much. That was probably one of the best compliments I've ever received from one of my works.

[Cecilia Marie]

Thanks.

[Danielle Bernard]

Definatly sobered me up... Good job