I want a parakeet
And I want a violin
I love all the sparrows
And I love your strong chin
I long for the ocean
Vast ocean of sand
I can hear waves crash
And hold my grandmother’s hand
I’ll make the menudo
With patience and care
And cry only a little
For she used to be here
But my tears will be salty
And mixed with some lime
And a shot of tequila
My heart will be fine.
It’s not all the heartache
Of living this life
It’s the hung over mistakes
And laughing ‘til you cry.
I’ll always feel the same
As I did in the past
That I was in the rough
Until you gave me a blast
And the water did wash
And the sand pushed past
And the facets were shiny
A diamond at last.
My eternal jewel, my sonnet, my soul
All given a purpose, a meaning, a goal.
I’m sorry to have hurt both outward and in,
I’m sorry I fail and my confidence is thin,
But I’ll grab on the rail and stagger up a few more
Though fragile and frail, I’m not on the floor.
I screw things up quick and more than I should
But you cannot just quit when the going’s no good.
So tear-worn and tired, I’ll vaguely press on
Insulted, admired, engaged until gone.
This life it’s worth living, it’s worth dying for,
It’s reward it’s regret it’s a menial chore
It’s great when it’s good
Or by the skin of your teeth,
Some have all the luck
And some fall beneath
Pick up your burden and toss all the rest
Man or a woman, get it all off your chest.
The truth! Oh the truth, the truth is all I desire!
I want to leave this world with the truth on my lips.
I want it so bad even if it sinks ships.
Because the truth is the truth no matter how hard
You try to conceal or camouflage or discard,
It comes backs relentless, infinitesimally still,
It comes with a vengeance, it comes sometimes to kill.
But the death would be sweet at the hands of the truth,
Bitter and beautiful, like a bit of vermouth.
It would sink in your skin, like a passionate lover,
And trail it’s fingers and possibly linger,
Like the glazed death expression of a man who’s just gone
Or a man in a whore house, considering what he’s done.
The truth is quite easy and the Truth is quite clear,
It’s just all our fuck ups that make things a bit queer.
It’s our societal shackles, it’s our instinct to blame,
It’s fighting our urges and hiding our shame.
It’s the clothes on our backs, and the ones on the floor.
It’s the sickening secret that we have in the Core.
So give me a parakeet,
Give me a gun.
I’ll play the violin
And have me some fun.
The rifle will crack
The shot will go awry
The wine will be good
Though just a bit dry.
But pour out a bit
For the boys ‘over there’
And maybe their wives
And their girlfriends mon chere…
But don’t spill a drop
For the women who fight
They simply won’t stop
And find it a bit trite
They fight for their sons
They fight for their men
They fight for a privilege
With a voice with a pen
We constantly struggle,
We try to walk a line
Called bitches and yatches
Oh to you it’s just fine
Well if the roles were reversed
And you were confined
I might be a sexist
I might be inclined.
To keep all my power, my say and my wealth,
To keep it and choose ethics over your health.
If you were a machine that made babies it’s true,
I wouldn’t give a fuck what you wanted to do.
I’d preach and I’d ramble,
I’d kindly opine,
What you ought to do,
As though you were mine.
As though you had no thoughts or dreams of your own
Like you wanted to be pedestaled up on your throne
And chained up in gild and surrounded by things,
It’s the Truth who knows why the caged bird sings…