I exist within fire.
A free exchange between suffering and desire.
From shades of skin to the howling of rage...
deep within this flesh made cage I seek a place.
A place of refuge from this mockery of jesting shape.
perhaps we are a jester race,
laughing at a joke.
we are the joke.
like something broken not knowing that
our not knowing is due to what's been broken.
I feel as if I have never truly spoken,
and even if I did,
Even if my capacity for speech equaled my audacity
to speak,
I would never find the hearing ear I seek.
Maybe my tongue is the wrong one.
If my skin is white what color is my tongue?
we victimize syllables,
forcing our words to compete in a race they never wanted
to run.
How about we build a prison for that shit?
We can assign Racial value to words, litigate their use,
then lock them up and profit off of it.
If a man is black and so is his tongue, then his words are his sons,
just as black and deserving of...
death in the streets without a court or possession of a gun?
White Jesus bless us all and justice be done.
Nothing to see here everyone.
Move along, alone in your skin, in your struggle.
Try to make sense of it.
I lack the words so I grin chin deep in it.
Grin at this 'white' face in the mirror.
Without words, without hearer.
Move along convict just don't move against the stream.
We can bury you where your ears won't hear you scream.
God bless America.
Land of the free.
Home of the brave.
Just not the native kind of brave.
Be grateful we reserved your 'red' ass a grave.
what the fuck is a 'red' man anyway?
Are they serious?
Are we supposed to believe in this?
I would rather carve a Heath Ledger as the joker grin in my cheeks and...
set fires to all this.
I'll take a page out of the broken windows playbook and
label my arson altruistic.
At least then we could warm ourselves next to something realistic.
What the hell is real?
Is it what I feel?
What if all I feel is each and every labored breath
for which the state makes me feel
I have to steal?
We are locked away, discarded.
Never forgiven, never pardoned.
For crimes of murder, arson, theft?
For the felony of being born in bodies
we never got to select.
The 'wrong' race.
The 'wrong' sex.
When did birth become a sentence worse than death?
I exist within fire.
A free exchange between suffering and desire.
Nothing makes any sense...
perhaps we are a
Jester race.
By James Cody Goodwin.#764730. M.C.C. T.R.U. D-UNIT 620-2
A free exchange between suffering and desire.
From shades of skin to the howling of rage...
deep within this flesh made cage I seek a place.
A place of refuge from this mockery of jesting shape.
perhaps we are a jester race,
laughing at a joke.
we are the joke.
like something broken not knowing that
our not knowing is due to what's been broken.
I feel as if I have never truly spoken,
and even if I did,
Even if my capacity for speech equaled my audacity
to speak,
I would never find the hearing ear I seek.
Maybe my tongue is the wrong one.
If my skin is white what color is my tongue?
we victimize syllables,
forcing our words to compete in a race they never wanted
to run.
How about we build a prison for that shit?
We can assign Racial value to words, litigate their use,
then lock them up and profit off of it.
If a man is black and so is his tongue, then his words are his sons,
just as black and deserving of...
death in the streets without a court or possession of a gun?
White Jesus bless us all and justice be done.
Nothing to see here everyone.
Move along, alone in your skin, in your struggle.
Try to make sense of it.
I lack the words so I grin chin deep in it.
Grin at this 'white' face in the mirror.
Without words, without hearer.
Move along convict just don't move against the stream.
We can bury you where your ears won't hear you scream.
God bless America.
Land of the free.
Home of the brave.
Just not the native kind of brave.
Be grateful we reserved your 'red' ass a grave.
what the fuck is a 'red' man anyway?
Are they serious?
Are we supposed to believe in this?
I would rather carve a Heath Ledger as the joker grin in my cheeks and...
set fires to all this.
I'll take a page out of the broken windows playbook and
label my arson altruistic.
At least then we could warm ourselves next to something realistic.
What the hell is real?
Is it what I feel?
What if all I feel is each and every labored breath
for which the state makes me feel
I have to steal?
We are locked away, discarded.
Never forgiven, never pardoned.
For crimes of murder, arson, theft?
For the felony of being born in bodies
we never got to select.
The 'wrong' race.
The 'wrong' sex.
When did birth become a sentence worse than death?
I exist within fire.
A free exchange between suffering and desire.
Nothing makes any sense...
perhaps we are a
Jester race.
By James Cody Goodwin.#764730. M.C.C. T.R.U. D-UNIT 620-2
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