Gritty Details

Friday, December 9, 2016

Tonight's Poet Corner: Introspection

(Looks to the left and sees controversy over Russian interference in the 2016 presidential election)

(Looks to the right and sees more awful shenanigans from the presidential transition team)

(Looks up and down and sees an inundation of holiday cheer)

So I've been writing pieces meant to be spoken word. Wanna see an example? There's more where that came from!


Mark of the Covenant
by Belinda Roddie

I’ve learned it’s detrimental to be sentimental these days
I’m shaking off a lingering cough and fighting this malaise
That gazes on me like my own mother disappointed
She expected me to be a saint, holy and anointed
Disjointed, I want to find a doctrine to hold onto
Hoping for a creed and a belief I can respond to
I’m desperate for respiration from the Lord Almighty
But there’s no way I can do this rightly

‘Cause I’m a symbol of the covenant – that’s right, pinks and blues,
purples and all sorts of fabulous hues
I am the rainbow tattooed on your aching right arm
Accused of causing your poor, innocent children harm
I was alarmed by the deluge of mobs that screamed that I’ve abused
The so-called sanctity of an offer that I couldn’t refuse
I felt used by the deity I’d been praying to
But I know He was feeling a little blue about it, too

“I’m sorry,” He said. “They’re fucked up,” He claimed.
And it’s His image that the populace couldn’t help to defame.
I know I’m crazy for thinking that He’ll stop me from sinking
In the sea that the angry once poured out for me
But really, I know they’re just confused, using excuse
After excuse for why they can’t find understanding of my views
“You’re gay and non-binary, is that some kind of irony?”
No, your families can survive in spite of me.
Your opinion can survive in spite of me.

Six o’clock in the evening, and I’ve stopped dreaming
long enough to find a pub that’ll manage my drinking.
I’m thinking about finding a new mantra to hold onto
or some sort of homo cult that I feel like I can belong to
Then I see her from my peripheral vision, she’s a vision,
and she’s marching to the bar like she’s on a heroic mission.
While they’re fixing her something stronger than my soul,
my gut is churning out excuses to just down my booze and go.

But there she is, and here I am, and now I think she’s eyeing me.
She’s smiling as if being friendly’s an act of defying me.
And now I’m super aware of the cocktail that she’s sliding me.
It’s like a projection of the colors that are inside of me.
Six dollars, eight dollars, how much could that drink have cost her?
I try to grin back, but I’m scared that I’ve already lost her.
I don’t know that two hours from now, we’ll be in her roo
making sweet, sweet love in the artificial gloom,
making sweet, sweet love in the manufactured gloom.

The movement’s been around for longer than I’ve ever lived,
the revolutionaries more courageous than I’ve ever been.
They never got the silly mainstream comforts that I’ve had.
They never got the chance to make the friends that I have made,
They never had the family support that my folks gave,
or even had a chance to see the people that they saved
or view the aftermath of all the bricks and stones they threw,
the “shot glass heard around the world” from Marsha Johnson, too,
and while things are still tough, they’re much better for me and you,
and now it’s up to us to see the revolution through.
Yeah, now it’s up to us to see the revolution through.

The morning is a bully from the window, and the holy
matrimony that it wanted is just two kids in the sheets.
They’re clinging to each other ‘cause there’s not much extra heat,
and listening to their heartbeats makes it easier to sleep.
You wanna have a coffee at the shop on the corner of the street,
but I’m a shadow lying next to you with semi-frozen feet.
You want to tell me that the night was more than you had hoped
but that could lead to an overly romantic slippery slope.

Can we talk? Can we talk? Can we walk to the beat
of a drum that only we can hear here in this suite?
Oh, you’re gay and non-binary; is that some kind of irony?
No, I say, son of a bitch, I add, in spite of me.
I get annoyed and overwhelmed by you in spite of me.

I know it’s detrimental to be sentimental these days.
I’ve fought the urge to be emotive and I’ve lived in my own haze
All the grays and smoky colors in my fraying tapestry
No longer threaten to upset the rainbow right in front of me
We are a mark of the covenant –as the yelling dies down
and we are more accepted in this small town,
I have found I’ve strayed a bit from the Lord Almighty
but He seems to think I can do this rightly
There’s a way, he says, for me to do this rightly.


There. How's that for an introspection, eh?

Have a great night and a great weekend, everyone.

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