FIFTH HOOKER POEM (what is the sound of one hand reaching out)

every time I try to name my losses the sound is drowned out by the pecking window rain of a thousand chattering feminists, will you please shut the fuck up so I can hear my own heartbeat and reach carefully into my deficiencies, please step aside so I can see what’s hiding at the ends of the roads I have to choose between, and MOVE your fat averagefaces melting with decades of no pain hundreds of proud rejections sitting on a throne of satiated childhood, move your gazes out of my way so I can contemplate the thousand outstretched arms before me to choose the pair that won’t drag me screaming into neverreceding night, grandmother what long arms you have, all the better to liberate you with my child, grandmother what little understanding you have, all the better to build a society with out of you and three thousand other confiscated bodies, empathy halts progress with its shrill screaming ants blocking our freeway to freedom, money’s comforting arms and feeding hands must be hidden away in the treasure chests of happy hearts as if someone might steal it from us through our cheating husbands, maybe you little hooker maybe precisely your starving heart on a street corner will pirate the man’s resources, better to hasten your disaster throw you away like a broken barbie doll (which by the way is totally unrealistic real women don’t look like that real hearts don’t beat that fast), better to sacrifice you to the garbage men than risk being infected with unhappy childhood or developing countries, here is a cry for help like a circumcised vocal cord in the silence, here are all the wrong problems and all the wrong solutions in a jumble of humorblack puzzle pieces, a woman that forms a different image than the one on the box, I don’t want to hear your whining about minimum wage inflexible job market depression anxiety carpal tunnel syndrome jacks-in-offices like avenging angels with unexplained grudges guarding the gates of heaven from, for example, people like little you, don’t give me your problems if they don’t solve mine, have a problem with the solution you’ve chosen for yourself lose your respect for yourself for your expertise in your own life become the story we tell with the full force of fully functioning lungs or GTFO in the rain with your red umbrella

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3 thoughts on “FIFTH HOOKER POEM (what is the sound of one hand reaching out)

  1. Brutally honest, and straight from the soul….I don’t try to figure out why I like your poetry, I just do.

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