The Twisted Desire to Burn Someone's White Picket Fence.

Location

1178 Old Buckingham Rd
United States

One, when I was younger I did not believe in the tooth fairy. 
I could not find the sanity 
in the tradition of a lady coming in my room and stealing 
a part of me for her own monopoly. 
One, when I became the bitter taste of black coffee and burnt out cigarettes. 
Was when she stole a part of me.
One, one, one— I now understand the purpose of the tooth fairy. 
The theft of a part you thought you need, is normal in this society. 
One— 
in the back of my friend, Ben’s, truck we discussed about the end of the world. 
In a complete swirl 
of laughter when Ben explains if the Ring of Fire wakes up the Pacific Ocean,
we are utterly screwed. 
One, I am the open flame-- 
never afraid to just burn. 
One, I am the conversation piece of one who can’t quite understand
this thing we call society. 
One, one, one, I still find safety underneath my covers still to this day,

not in the fear of being eaten,

but in the fear of being seen.
One, I am the sweater warmth, 
knowing I am entirely made of knots and twist 
that I am not quite sure how to undo. 
Because I once was only a girl scout— 
the skirted girl selling cookies at your door. 
I once dropped my bags to the floor 
and shouted In the middle of an airport, 
“I WANT MY MOMMY!” 
Nothing is more alive than someone seeing their life flash before their eyes. 
            But I am no mortician. 
I have no clue how to make something already gone pretty­­; 

none of us are pretty.
One, I am the salute to the yards we the people buzz cut; 
look at this pretty world, 
look at the white picket fences and all the ugly smiling faces. 
One, I am a feminist.

One, I am an activist.

One, and I sure the hell wish I was a Buddhist

because I rather shave my head for peace,

instead of shaving it for war.

One, one, one,

I am a burning flame,

that you use to light your middle school crush cigarette 
in the parking lot where you realized how small you really were. 

One, I am an open fire

ready to burn every white privilege picket fence

even though I am simply just,

one.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Guide that inspired this poem: 
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Cheyenne_johnson

One, when I was younger I did not believe in the tooth fairy. 
I could not find the sanity 
in the tradition of a lady coming in my room and stealing 
a part of me for her own monopoly. 
One, when I became the bitter taste of black coffee and burnt out cigarettes. 
Was when she stole a part of me.
One, one, one— I now understand the purpose of the tooth fairy. 
The theft of a part you thought you need, is normal in this society. 
One— 
in the back of my friend, Ben’s, truck we discussed about the end of the world. 
In a complete swirl 
of laughter when Ben explains if the Ring of Fire wakes up the Pacific Ocean,
we are utterly screwed. 
One, I am the open flame-- 
never afraid to just burn. 
One, I am the conversation piece of one who can’t quite understand
this thing we call society. 
One, one, one, I still find safety underneath my covers still to this day,

not in the fear of being eaten,

but in the fear of being seen.
One, I am the sweater warmth, 
knowing I am entirely made of knots and twist 
that I am not quite sure how to undo. 
Because I once was only a girl scout— 
the skirted girl selling cookies at your door. 
I once dropped my bags to the floor 
and shouted In the middle of an airport, 
“I WANT MY MOMMY!” 
Nothing is more alive than someone seeing their life flash before their eyes. 
            But I am no mortician. 
I have no clue how to make something already gone pretty­­; 

none of us are pretty.
One, I am the salute to the yards we the people buzz cut; 
look at this pretty world, 
look at the white picket fences and all the ugly smiling faces. 
One, I am a feminist.

One, I am an activist.

One, and I sure the hell wish I was a Buddhist

because I rather shave my head for peace,

instead of shaving it for war.

One, one, one,

I am a burning flame,

that you use to light your middle school crush cigarette 
in the parking lot where you realized how small you really were. 

One, I am an open fire

ready to burn every white privilege picket fence

even though I am simply just,

one.

 

MVP-Most Valuable Poet

that was amazing

keep building off your ideas and expand

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