Post-twenty, Teenage Poetry

I used to write really atrocious poetry when I was in high school. I mean, really bad. I think it’s a phase that every teenager who takes himself way too seroiusly goes through. You know, to seem deep or something to that effect. Navel gazing as a sign of wisdom and maturity…To be called an “old soul”. The problem is, though, is that even though I understand that, when I was 18 I was angry for absolutely no reason at all, I’m still holding on to a fair amount of cynicism. To be honest, I’m holding on to alot more than a fair amount of cynicism. Last night, I was thumbing through some of my old philosophy term papers, looking for something to write about. I was thumbing through a epistemology term paper when I noticed a single page of looseleaf notebook paper sandwiched between a couple of pages of my term paper. It was the last poem that I wrote. I wrote it while that whole unpleasantness about hurricane Katrina was going on. And, typical to form, it was atrocious. But, I thought that I’d put it here. So, in lieu of an actual blog entry, I present crappy poetry: “if you can’t, don’t” i’m not gonna talk politics. I’m not gonna protest, or walk out, or demonstrate I’m not gonna sit-in And I’m not gonna write a letter, or send an e-mail, or make a phone call. I’m not going to do anything. I’m going to sit here in my comfy chair Look at my unused Ab-Rocker, and Be utterly, entirely AMERICAN. I’m gonna overeat and not get sleep And watch too much TV. And not give a good goddamn about anyone who hasn’t been On Extra! or on Entertainment Tonight Or seen on YouTube. It’s an E! Entertainment Television world out there And it don’t matter If it ain’t beautiful. therefore, I’m not going to do a damn thing. NOT ONE GODDAMN THING I’m not gonna care while the war is raging I’m not gonna care while children are starving Or when women are being gang-raped in Bosnia Or mutilated in Sudan, or while people are being Ethnically cleansed, bunker bombed, collaterally damaged, Or shocked or awed or otherwise wiped off the face of this earth. ‘Cause it just don’t matter to me anymore. Or just that it never did. I can watch floods in New Orleans And pretend to pity the so poor and the so black. I can watch genocide in Darfur And not even offer a piss-poor prayer to GOD in hopes that Maybe he’ll watch over them… Ican stare at the TV for hours And turn it off and still Have a nice day. I can do this because an American can do this. And besides, I live in a pretty good neighborhood.

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