Ashamed

[vampiredust]

I wrote this earlier in the passion thread but deleted it afterwards:

Race Relations Act

Put something away. Vote Labour

Ignore bruises black as her hajib
let her slip between slogans

That is our way here

Father talks in terms of pakis
wogs and spics

I will not shave off my hair
nor wear boots thicker
than his words

When I look in the mirror
I see myself getting darker

(But I will not tell him that)

---------------
I deleted it because I am ashamed. My father is a rascist and I am ashamed of that {this is what the poem is about}

 

[WickedEve]

Many of my family members and neighbors (I'm in the south) are racists to varying degrees.
I have many poems about racism. I'm not ashamed to tell these stories. It's simply part of my life. I don't agree with their racist views, but I do write about these people and events.

 

[WickedEve]

Here's one about my dad.

segregation

it is my inclination,
perhaps duty,
as a poet
to sow a good scrap of paper.

there's more than a handful
of unbearable seeds
inside my head.
i could not unhear his words.

they did not bungee from utterance
to ear.
instead they dropped from his mouth
like a hanged man,
and i was air,

space,
there to accept whatever came into me.

for me,
it is dictionary
and history--

defined in one
and not separated from the other.

he spoke of contentment:

"there were black,
white rows
down by tracks,
thin lips
drinking from the same
thick, dark openings.

they were content
to come together
when days were lulled by separation."

and now,
for me,
it is a poem.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

You should be ashamed of having deleted a poem written in the "all of a sudden passion suddenly thread".

 

[Decayed Angel]

I've seen a lot more bigoted stuff

proudly posted in the poetry forum...

At least yours displays some honesty and insight.

 

[clutching_calliope]

UTI's

.....

 

[annaswirls]

first of all, it is a fine poem. second, you are not your father, any shame does not belong to you.

my mother voted for george w. and shops at walmart even though she can afford to spend her dollars in a socially conscious manner. I can tease her or argue maybe or just love her and her conservative ways You are going through a process of disassociating from your parents, so the shame is natural. It took me a long time to realize that I cannot get my sense of self worth through the accomplishments of my parents nor should I feel a sense of personal shame or embarassment from the places where we do not agree. Of course, I still have issues with both, mostly with the subconscious pride in what I have been given, even though I did nothing to deserve it.

When children are abused or neglected, we try to reassure them, even as adults working through their pasts, that it was not their fault, that they did not deserve to be handed such a raw deal, but we rarely try to reassure people who were given everything that they too, did not deserve it, to hold pride over things not earned is dangerous too.

Sorry, that was a passing shower in my brain storm. I will try to keep more focused

You seem to notice and feel everything. This is what makes you a good poet. It is a good thing. I have found that the truth is the truth, whether or not it makes us feel good. As a poet, I think you have the responsibility to absorb, feel, and translate what you experience so that your reader can learn from your experience by taking us through that experience. If shame is what you are feeling, then shame is what you should make us understand, which is what you are doing. Shame is a strong emotion, complex. Don't hide from it. Poems that cause one to feel shame or embarassment because of their truth rae some of the most powerful, to see the poet stripped down and uncovering his scars a nd flaws, soft spots and bruises. It takes a great deal of trust and faith. I am so glad you feel that and are able to share.

poet on, Christian!

I am going to paste my shame-full racist poem here too I wrote it last week after seeing my lawn mower being stolen

~J

 

[annaswirls]

Stolen Toro

sucking ice pops on the porch swing
I watch them drive home
try to lock the sweatweary eyes
dry grass glued under straw hat headbands
women’s elbows rest out the open window
fingernails softened by another families soap and grime
I try to catch their eyes
wondering which ones stole from me
I smile and say "look! look at me, I am not one of them
the spoiled ones, I have to mow my own lawn"
and they keep driving past
as I put on my cowgirl pajamas from Target
decide to dye my hair tomorrow
pretend there is no time to think about it
when actually it is all just stuck in the shame
I saw them pull away
and yes they fit "the profile" and no I do not want to believe
the current of bigotry that flows under our feet
building mountains
boiling springs
happiness kills my will to fight it
these fucking drugs don’t let me get angry
or curse the thieves instead of apologizing
is it just the drugs that keep me ahhhh peaceful yes
and popcorn with ICEE's to keep the boys shhhhh in the red cart
we hummmm down the aisle like the fluorescent hummmm above
with the same cowboy hats
from the Chesapeake accessory aisle
hmm. could it be that I actually believe
I have more than I ever earned
even knee deep -- no
waist deep -- no
head under debt?

shut up bitch you are there of your own accord
given a mountain you dug this hole
ha ah ha and down in the hole
down in the hole you sit in the new car
beaded hat and free trade chocolates
maybe I really do think the
lawn mower might actually be ours
you have not paid yet


god I love this place!
we would put up a fence
if we could afford a fence
tonight my baby sleeps safe
I can’t shake myself into acceptance or fear
we are and we will be we are
ahhhh ha these drugs
keep me so ahhhhhhh
make me coast along the endless edge of climax with no satisfaction
oh this super heated steam under pressure mmm feels
sooo good for sooo long but
torture, I tell you it is torture of over-pleasure
and when it all finally comes down
my fists pound your chest damn it! and the tears
won’t stop and the screams won’t stop and fuck even
the pulsing won’t stop
I thought the shotgun might hit a single target
ha ah ha nothing nothing nothing
I press my knees together
and it all flutters away