The Real Taliban
Sorry, drinking lots of red wine. The cork is out. So just a note to the universe. Unedited. Naked and alive. No offense intended but ... it's alright ma'ma.
What can I say?
My halo is broken and
my wings no longer work
and it takes me much time
to recover from
the injuries inflicted
by those faithful believers
in their straight way.
I’m not looking for sympathy
I’m really not, despite the fact
that when you read anybody’s poetry
you always feel that.
I’m not.
I’m not looking for crocodile tears.
I’m just telling you how it is
and how they look at me
with my prideful purple ways
and how it shakes them straight up,
makes them crazed.
I’m just saying …
religion is one thing
but this personal belief stuff
is the real Taliban.
I’ll take a church any day over
their private parties, their carnivalia
and refusal to
ever address their beliefs to me
straight up, in public.
The best you can ever ask for
in this most fantastical of universes
is to be dealt straight,
to come face to face with
those who hate.
Yet, they smile
into their lunchboxes and
buy me penny candy
and share with me their
profound thoughts about the
latest Netflix series.
Just saying,
I’d rather smoke shit
with the Taliban
then share a thousand
shallow smiles with
them pushing their baby carriages
to nowhere special.