They Get Riled So Easily
All stirred up by the words that come out on these pages.
These thoughts are best left to staunch women
Who sit happily under a repressive veil of undetermined class.
Why, no one is ever angry!
We sit here wanting to hold hands and LOVE one another.
Then we shut the door
We lay back and let all those slurs roll off our tongues.
We think all those thoughts we dare not speak.
Then we condemn ourselves
and creep back into our repression.
With all our gaucherie tucked back into place we stroll on.
Keeping these things in is a bit like constipation.
You take in so much supposed cerebral sustenance
Gulping it down from which ever way it pours out.
Did you think it would not turn into cerebral feculence?
Keep carrying that in
I hear backed up waste in the colon poisons the body.
What then of backed up waste in the soul?
Better to disgorge it from the recesses of my mind
I like the way people look when they blush.
Not because they are offended
But because they feign their incorruption so well.
I was never good at hiding things
I was always much better at procuring new bits of
Anathema to parade around in.
There are times I long for a way to release all those
Who remain cinched within their rectitude.
A lot less poison in our metropolis and feces belongs down the drain anyway right.
poem by Raechael Woodroof
Added by Poetry Lover
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