Poetry: The Jig is Up

I was born exiled from the past,
To a weightless family name

And with no ties to bind,
I wonder from whence I came

Why reproduce, I ask
Why leave a child to the task?

As if they had a plan in mind,
For I certainly was not

It’s as if they cared naught beyond the means,
Leaving their progeny so far downstream

For all I know, they managed only to reproduce –
For what else did they do?

This – I could not tell you


And if life is but a game,
Who writes the rules?

Did they think i’d find the answers in churches and schools?

What fools.

For classrooms are pews for little wretches too,
Do they not pray for acceptance, whether Catholic or Jew?

How institutions thrive on the promise of redemption overdue

Only in churches, no tution is due –
But to pass the pearly gates, a price is asked of you

Sign over this life, and you shall be saved

After all, you were born in sin from your first day,
So do as the men with the white beards say

And if not, hell will make this life seem like child’s play

Is this the fucking game I am expected to play?


The classical gods,
They are right royal pricks
Playing with us these cruel callous tricks
Giving me one, as if I was not bred by those who too had dicks


The jig is up
The ship is going down
And I, like them, am but a faceless name in a town

But unlike those before me,
I shall not leave the nameless to drown

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