Tuesday, September 22, 2015

Noel Negele- Two Poems

On A Conversation With A Feminist

 “ Not all women are equal to all men
 Just like not all men are equal to all men
 Just like not all women are equal to all women.
 Not all lives are equally worthy
 But all lives are equally worthless.”

She continued to state that I’m a sexist guy
( But that’s okay, according to her,
 Because there’s always hope for betterment)

She continued to believe that life is
An incredible thing, which it is,
But she also thought that we were singular flowers
Of one of a kind importance
And that didn’t sit well with me,
And she also believed in God, the almighty,
The one from the bible, and I know this is wrong
but I grabbed her ears, this woman so much in love
With her own face,
And I squeezed and crashed my face down on hers
Digging my tongue into her mouth
To show her that in a world where
An ugly, mean son of a bitch like me lives
Is a world not created by God, the almighty, the one from the bible.

It also proved that some of us
Are not singular fucking flowers
Of one of a kind importance


We sat at a park bench 
I was sleepless
Holding onto a coffee
I didn’t want to drink
And said to him:
Man, if you think about it
Our lives are fairly empty
No women, no jobs, not much of anything
We wake up to these uneventful weeks
Unremarkable days adding on each other 
Without quit-
We eat and drink, we fight and sometimes we fuck
And not much else happens

I have to go he said
And I stayed there for some time
Looking at a small dog being chased
By a laughing child-
Two little birds with a climaxing intimacy 
Surrounding me-
Sometimes it all gets better for you
The air has the scent of spring
And you feel somewhat healthy
And confident about things-
Maybe you’ll attend some classes 
Or actually find something to strive for
Any purpose will shed light into the fog 
Of your life
And you expect it any time now

I was thinking about these things
And more- all positive and naïve
( but it’s alright, it is wise to allow 
 Some naivety in your life to make
The hours bearable )
When a girl sat next to me on the bench

Can I sit here she asked
Of course I replied 
And we sat there together
Two silent strangers looking at each other
Discreetly from the corners of our eyes

And I felt the urge to talk to her
I need you I wanted to say
Your flesh and the sound of your voice
When you whisper

She had her index finger of her right palm
Below her upper lip-
Something of a tick of sorts

And I wanted to listen to her
I needed her eyes to be fixed on my eyes
As she would go on and on about her dreams
No matter how grandiose or mediocre
But all I said in the end was
“ There are a lot of microbes on our hands”
And I stood up feeling ill from something
That old familiar ongoing disdain
For all things living 
Cropping up-

It’s like those times
When you want to smoke
Or else you are going to slaughter someone
But the packet is empty-
Or that toothache that’s splitting your
Skull in half-
Or that problem in your stomach
That won’t go away –
The day starts to rot one hour at a time
Piling into weeks and then months
With very few moments of ease to find
Somewhere in the smile of a stranger
Or a straw cat that is not afraid of you
But then the rotting crawls back into place
And there are years of this
Lives of this
Inside and outside
Nothing but a stretching continuum of despair
With those intolerably brief moments of peace

Life doesn’t have to try to brake us
We are already broken
Maybe from birth maybe from childhood
Little things will shatter us to a million pieces
Like a lost bet 
Or two bad dreams 
Waking you up into the darkness of your life
Pushing you outside in search of a 13 foot manila rope
After googling on the internet
How to tie a very good knot
Able to hold however much 
Your lousy ass weighs.

Sometimes it gets very bad

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