to the human rights journalist & his pictures of dead women & children

to the human rights journalist & his pictures of dead women & children November 16, 2016
if i was dead
you would mourn my corpse
but you have no use
for the inconvenience
of a live woman

a corpse does not speak
and makes a great photo-op
for human rights journalism
she’s a playboy bunny
for your gaze of pity

but i live
and i sleep and wake and write
and a woman with words to speak
a human being with a “don’t grab me there”
and a pen
who won’t be touched nor silenced
is a nasty thing
for such a man to see

i am not her
–like a corpse–
to be seen
i am here
–like a writing creature–
to live
to love

you have no room
to mourn me in death
if you do not celebrate me in life

you chase fame with a tag line
but the story has no room for my name
unless it is an obituary
and my body is left in a mortuary

but i live
and i write my own poetry
but i weep
and sing my own dirge
but i dance
and keep my own step
but i laugh
at my own puns and poverty
but i dream
and i feel god’s urge
to live
to love

your facebook tag
of the woman you’re proud of
breaks my heart

i’m the wrong kinda woman for you
for you never say
you are proud of me
i’m the wrong kinda woman for you
one with a beating
breakable heart

i’m not interviewed on tv
i have no tagline
no reputation to protect
i just go quietly
and sit with the people who need me
my protest is poetry
silent solidarity
spoken with a living body
in the street, the grocery, the library

keep your fame,
your pride, your pretty interviewee
keep your glamor
and opulent meals
keeps your pictures
of dead children
away from me

i live
where the work is dirty
and scary

i live
with the living

About m

My ego wants to think I'm a writer but my heart knows I'm just another one of God's Kids who sometimes has words to say. 2 human kids and 3 feline kids call me Mom. Or Mooooooom. Or mewom, depending which you ask. I'm kinda-sorta busy being a student again; this time I signed myself up for a bizarre torture known as Graduate School. Theoretically in 4ish years I'll have earned some more nice letters to put with my name. Let's face it, I'm addicted to learning and probably need rehab to restore me to sanity and remove the obsession to read books. I don't remember what free time is but I think I like to spend it sleeping or playing in the mud on a river bank.
This entry was posted in creative writing, poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to to the human rights journalist & his pictures of dead women & children

  1. m says:

    I posted a live recording of this when it was still new and timely, along with a little background on the poem:


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