9/12/08

9/12/08

The past isn’t the past to me at this moment,
and I’m living in your memory.
The past isn’t the past to me.
Every place I’ve ever been
Has never received me.
And everyplace I’ll hope to go since now
Will be exactly what I make it.
Hopefully now, you’ll have an agent
And a publisher.
And if not,
I want you to try to do something for me.
Dig up all those old poems
The ones that kinda sound like this.
Ones filled with hopelessness
Ones filled with hopes of tomorrow
And I want you to spread them
As far as you can see
And I want them out there
I want you to remember me.
The girl who cried
When daddy wasn’t there
The one who almost died
When mommy wasn’t prepared.
I want you to cherish them
As if they could do it now
And if they can’t, sigh as I do
And wait for the overdue relish.
And if you’ve got a companion
I want you to remember the wishes of one.
And I want you to make sure he meets all of those wishes
Without even lifting a finger
But leaving a print anyway.
I want you to picture your old room.
The one which you wanted to be clean.
Remember all it has held for you
And thank it for that much.
I want you to look at your arm.
Are the scars still there?
Have they been replaced with tattoos of disgrace?
Have they healed over nicely?
Or have they conquered all?
Have you made more since now?
Or are the old ones forlorn?
I want you to cry for me,
As I am about to do right now.
I want you to look out your window,
And carefully unknit your brow.
Did your teeth shift?
Has he seen you with the god-awful headgear?
Is he at work, with himself,
Or is he here?
I want him to know
That I am here.
I want to be an equal
To somebody other than my name.
I hope all my dreams are fulfilled,
And my dress has no need to be tame.
The past isn’t the past to me,
I’m living in your memory.
Air out your clean laundry
For all the wrong to see.
Make them jealous
Make them change their mind,
Make them want to cringe
As though you committed a crime.
The past isn’t the past to me,
As you can see in this prose,
Has your dad made you dangle
From the tip of his nose?
Did he die like he always wanted?
Or does he cower in unlawful existence?
Please tell me that you’ve never been
Stunted by substance.
Fold me and put me
In your pocket.
Remember all you have done for yourself,
And promise to do it again.
-xx

9/12/08

fishandpigs

West Sayville, United States

  • Artist
    Notes

Artist's Description

A sociology project…
My teacher will send it to me in ten years.

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