"Accolades For Valor" by Matthew Johnson (1993): "She goes through life, gliding, a benevolent seer/ Stopping constantly to aid those in need, those not even dear/ I, an individual, swept up in the storm/ Of a woman, who, in search of herself, defies the norm/ As I, an outcast, fighting myself, yet daring to believe/ That if I ask her aid and succor (and possibly love) she won’t leave/ Giving her heart, mind and soul to every known cause/ Causing me to look about my selfish malestrom, and in introspection give pause/ For all her words, she won’t write about me, does she fail to perceive/ What the object knows to be true and what make believe—/ Words rarely present, presence much more of one/ Is to wish for more as good as wishing for the sun?/ Energy is precious, as I know well to be true/ And I am curious to know, Lorraine, what I can ask of you/ Names are important, they make us who we are/ Much more important than people give credit, by far/ The masses may cry “Lori!” and let them do so!/ For the numbers who call that cannot understand/ They will never know the Lorraine inside, the one crying to live/ Will be forever frustrated by those whose minds are like a sieve/ There may be those who rob her of her world, let them scratch the skin/ They are as pinpricks to the steel within/ These accolades are not exaggeration, not pretentious/ I Just want you to know that there is at least one who is conscious/ That the world is a better place for the life of a woman named Lorraine."

Tuesday, September 13, 1994

Buried Treasure










I used to be an eyesore.
The others got looked at,
but I just watched.
(Too ugly or too fat)

It doesn't really matter now.
I occasionally catch them looking,
but usually it happens when
they've got a scheme cooking.

They'll admire me for my intellect;
want my body for my brain;
but are turned off by my soul.
That's what brings the pain.

Why is it they like my mind
but my psyche drives them off?
As evil as other females can be,
you'd think they'd like one soft.

Would life be better
with perfect measurements?
Flawless hair and complexion?
Fabulous ass and tits?

Would it be better
if I was cold as ice?
Caniving; deceiving;
never to sacrifice?

'Cause everything I believe
is turning into fraud.
All the things that even out
are now departing odd.

The signals I am getting
are against all I'd thought.
Everything one should look for
is everything I'm not.

Lose weight. Spend money
on make-up and hair;
trendy clothes; contacts;
and new shoes, a daily pair.

Oh, but pursue my education.
Gather knowledge for others as well,
but spend less time analyzing
and dipping in the inkwell.

Stop caring about everyone
and giving 'til I drop.
Never cry; always say 'no,'
and demand the bullshit stops.

Become cold and closed off.
Cheat and lie to get what I want.
Don't ask what I can do to help.
Simply laugh, bop, and flaunt.

Beauty may be skin deep,
but people tred at the surface.
Lost, I wander, deep in a void,
searching for my purpose.

September 13, 1994

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