SugarcanesA Poem by Amarantaupdate on feelings while listening to joey bada$$ and almost done high school. TW for death mention, vague suicide mention, doctors mention, some negativityThe purest child is made of sugarcanes. I touch her seven-year-old hands, already scabbed and dirty, I drip sweat from my chin, my chest, my arms; I am Kuan Yin; My best friend was flattened like a grasshopper by an oil tanker. Why do I want to go to class when I could skip? No one in my family Has graduated; my father went to jail at seventeen, I will fall, I will fail, I will fail. My best friends became lawyers and bankers. I have a dollar and a dream, know what I mean? Does our productivity measure our success as a person? I sit and wonder if I will ever be more than my grades, My bank account, my job experience. This hollownessPersists in the plastic notes in my wallet.
The gospel of the road to happiness persists. Two universes; Work and Happiness, interspersing after a billion years During the lunar eclipse of office love. What do I know? Poetry in word, voice, taste, touch, smell, love This answer is a saxophone solo from the heavens above, So will somebody please listen to my Happiness? The early days coagulate like lamb’s blood on my summer-time hearse This is it: my redemption. Audis and art and alligator skin purse Was I this happy in the tent, in the chili fields? (Was there love before money?) Family, togetherness and Christmas times of nothingness except Body heat in our basement suite. Next time I’ll feel the holy paper, The dream of my childhood, I’ll own this s**t. Soon I’ll get to say go away, get away, ‘cause I made it. To be honest, I never thought I’d live this long. There’s this team of doctors trying to tell me the difference of right and wrong. Soon I’ll get to say go away, get away, ‘cause I made it. © 2016 AmarantaReviews
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3 Reviews Added on March 3, 2016 Last Updated on March 3, 2016 Tags: high school, poetry, poem, writing, suicide, personal, joey badass, joey bada$$, poverty |