Writing is not cathartic, even though its feeling of release is present; it is not enlightening, however, it provokes critical thinking; it is not, above all, entertaining, nonetheless it transports you. I write in order to rationalize interiority, to catch emic experiences with a net. Everything, however, revolves and remains inside.

Saturday, September 22, 2007

Who to blame (2nd draft)

In the morning, when I fling the alarm
I wonder who to blame
Or how to bend the day
There’s always some noise that disrupts the flow
Of my mind trynna breathe
And go through the million things
That I gotta do today and next month and in ten years
The more that you do
The more life that you lose
There’s a pressure that smothers, suffocates everything
And if you make it worse
Becomes irrelevant
At this point…
I don’t want to create excuses for myself
Or anybody else.

My mother says that in the years to come
I will feel the pain
Crawling down my neck
She says 'trust in God but don’t have faith in people'
And I have to laugh
Cause it’s their faith that have crea-
ted God, Mom.

But Dios,
I don’t want to justify my faith
Or challenge anybody else’s

But sometimes I wish we hadn’t thought the concept up in the first place.

Still, I have no space to question
Or maybe a little, but not enough
To challenge and change what’s grotesque of
A reality that is not fair enough
Always a fact, a statistic, nature
To some bullshit excuse that is not enough
That doesn’t suffice to answer
The lack of humanity that we show among us

It doesn’t suffice to answer
Why we’re brutal with everything that has been created for us.

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