Margin Notes Poem #3: Politicoetic

The words aren’t mine, just the punctuation. These were all fragmented notes of thoughts and ideas that I wrote in the margins of my notebook(s) over the past few weeks.

I silence myself again.
My name is not important.

That invisible whiteness,
My black self:
It seems like they’re married.
Lighting the figure and the wall,
Darkness is never the absence.

Measured to the inch and weighed to the ounce.
Four thousand feet again.
Score a buck here, score a buck there,
A combination of hustle and luck to survive.
Buy me a star on the Boulevard,
Because everybody likes bags of diamonds.

Complacent thinking.
It makes it better: Boundaries. Constraints. Epigenetic.
Trap. Trapped. Trapped. Trapped. Trash Fire. The Treasure.
Escape. Flashback- strangely placed.
You are always here, tuned into the center of the table.

We worship at the altar of television.
In the space between insanity and insecurity; the moving image.
An unbroken digital scream and a paranoid trip of ones and zeroes.
We of all people should be able to talk about this.
Say it or don’t say it: We’re not here for the dialogue.
Sound of the fountain, baked into singing wild lines.
You don’t speak subtext.

All we wanted was to go down and look at the people we hated.
After privilege, equality feels like oppression:
and oppressed people can also oppress.
Your privilege is separate from your pain.
Giving that control away because
you don’t get in touch with death by thinking about your makeup.
Share the Screen: a program for women:
Good job on the petticoats, but they play so much.
A woman wearing Birkenstocks and a nicotine patch.
He tries not to say he’s sorry.

So I left and came to LA.
It was part of my equation; if I don’t, who will?
There can be only one, if there even is one.
Bell as punctuation, be careful.
Don’t leave the band out.
I wasn’t clever. I just had mono.

The ending feels unresolved.
Memories? Dream? End scene.
Never forget this shaking.

~ by Gwydhar Gebien on March 23, 2016.

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