:: Boy In Corner ::

:: Thursday, December 16, 2004 ::

So if you read my actual regular blog, here are some fragments of stuff I've been working on . Everything is still in revision, and I will probably cut parts into two different poems, and I may end up cutting some stuff out (like the last lines) out permanently. Oh well. Enjoy!

People say most of my poems are depressing. Rape, killings, molestation, violence, crime, and greed, racism, sexism, and homophobia seem to be the creed of most of my poems, and yes, that should disturb you. I do write sad poems, but if we lived in a world where all that didn’t exist, I wouldn’t have to.

<>Let’s end the hate and violence, and even the love too, cuz apparently, when some people give you kisses, fists come along with it too.

Women that are depressed, oppressed, repressed, distressed, and suppressed by unwelcomed guests to their bodies suggests that we need to invest some time and effort and reassess this androcentric world of male privilege.

Wait, hold up, make that white male privilege, cuz all I got out of being an Asian male was no role models, a model minority myth, and people thinking I have a small penis, which I don’t. But I can walk alone at night without fear of rape and I get more respect when I talk about computers or sports or cars, so I have privileges too, so I realize that and will just try and do what I can to make these privileges extend to all of you.

<>So perhaps I’ll use a lighthearted inflection, and maybe it’ll make it easier to stomach the infection that is a woman I just met telling her story of being raped twice by her husband and then being locked in a dark shower for two hours. Or soon you’ll be able to be drafted and die for a country that is only using you because you are poor. Or the fact that if you are queer, you too can be beaten and tied up to a fence and die afraid and alone.

So I’ll smile when I say my aunt was stabbed to death by her husband, or that thousands of innocent people are being torn to shreds in Iraq, and of course, let’s not forget the countless murders that happen every day but aren’t reported by the news because they’re poor folks of color. And let me tell you a joke:

<>How did a woman who is in a nursing home end up getting scabies and genital warts? By being raped by orderlies!

Wow, isn’t that fucking disgusting?<>

<>This isn’t a laughing matter, and it shouldn’t be. But my yearning to change this is the reason that I write poetry. You see, these countless crimes and sick minds bind to me like leeches on my heart, and although I can’t perfectly empathize, I still feel this knotting of my heart like darts tearing through my chest, I can’t rest until some sort of justice is done, and that’s why I slam sad shit like this, I don’t do this just for fun.

<>

I know the words from a middle class Berkeley student may not seem like it’s coming from the source, but I’ve seen death, and pain and trauma, molestation, abuse, and worse.

So here is my fucked up identity poem that I’d like to share. Cuz even though you might push me away, I’ll still stay cuz I care.

:: Rick Kitagawa 1:13 AM [+] ::
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