Tuesday, April 5, 2011

This is it, bitches (a poem)

This is it, bitches.
When the chips are down,
how are you gonna roll with it?
Why am I writing like a gangsta rapper?
Because I am a fucking gangster.
I’m still gonna keep doing this.
4 life. Til I die, fuckers.
I’m mad as hell.
So here it comes. Listen up, now.
The money is never enough.
I don’t get paid for doing this.
You can take your money and
Go fuck yourself.
I’ll take my anxious struggle
Over your safe comfort any day.
All my favorite artists are poor.
The rich ones, the ones who know
“the business”—those are the ones who
lose their souls.
I don’t give a shit about business or
Marketing or whatever.
I know how to follow my dream,
And that is all I need to know.
I will make a way.
Where there is a will, there is a way,
And I’ve got will to spare.
I am all Will.

Listen. Here is my problem with
Most Americans:
They are motivated by money.
If something doesn’t give them
Immediate financial reward,
They don’t do it.
And I’m not talking about hobbies,
I’m talking about what they choose to
Really invest themselves in,
Like, personally.

I dream for the day when people
Will wake the fuck up.

Listen up all you rich kids,
You who do what you want
On your parents’ dime,
You don’t know how this feels.
Your dreams are paper.
Mine are made of bricks and mortar.
I have carried them up mountains,
Every step a struggle.
Take your free cars and vacations
And easy jobs
And cram them up your ass.

I spit hot fire this afternoon,
Because it is how I deal
With overdue rent, and taxes,
And bills I cannot pay.
I will find a way,
And people in comfort who
Do not understand,
Fuck them too.

I breathe hot fire this afternoon.
I am a dragon, a fucking wolf.
I don’t take no excuses,
I don’t abide by laziness,
I don’t give entitled motherfuckers
The time of day.
You ain’t entitled to shit,
Except, this afternoon,
My fiery anger. And rehab.
You are entitled to rehab, maybe,
When your trust fund runs out.

I have a friend who once told
Me he was gonna change the world,
And then he became a rock star.
He hasn’t changed a damn thing.
I helped create an art community
Where there was none.
I have changed something
In this world.
That rock star may be rich and famous,
But I was the one who changed the world.

You say I’m bragging.
Well, I usually keep pretty quiet.
But not this afternoon.
This afternoon I am John the fucking Baptist.
I am Bill fucking Hicks.
I am a loud and angry man.

If you see me today,
I will probably be quiet, even shy.
But know that I am a
Fire-breathing, ninja-star throwing
Samurai unicorn wolf.
You will tremble.
You will tremble.

2 comments:

  1. Two comments on this one: first, you kinda sound like Charlie Sheen at a lot of points. Second, might hurt your election chances. Keep writing, though, bro. It's a good way to work things out.

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