(from The Tree Outside My Window)
Teach me to love.
I will teach you to hate.
Together, we can make a change.
With your love and my hate,
we can make this world a better place.
I’ve always wanted to write a children’s story.
Do you think you could teach me to speak?
Maybe then, you will love me
for what I’ve given you. Hate me
for what I’ve done to you.
Okay, I’m ready to do it now.
I picked my pen up off the desk.
My notepad is open to this page.
Take a deep breath, I’m going to begin.
The story is about a lion who loves a wolf…
I will always be
the alpha motherfucker
moaning like a bitch in heat
fucking like a goddamn lion king.
So you little slut,
let’s get to work on this lesson.
I’m bored with bondage and discipline.
I say we’re ready for sadomasochism.
You know what, I despise
your fucking sleepy time stories.
Now that I have you tied up and gagged,
you’re gonna listen to poetry my way:
This one is all about me,
but you know I am you.
I’ll tell it in third person.
Let there be no dispute!
I went back to the pit today.
I retraced my steps.
I sat down with the devil.
We had brunch.
I called him father.
He called me son.
I said – Father,
I’m going to kill you now.
I love my mother.
I hate what you have done.
The devil agreed.
He bowed his head.
He told me he was in love with me.
I rolled out the guillotine…
I had to spare the roaches, though, tiny little rats
that they are, crawling in and out of my father’s soul.
God and the devil, the master enslaved.
The lion is the wolf!
The spirit has come to life, my friend,
and this time he’ll condemn you to
heaven by praising the glory of hell.
That’s how the wild things grow.
Everybody’s gone mad.
We’re too sane to see it.
Take out the punctuation.
Let every line stand alone.
I have to write this all down
because if I accosted you on the street,
you’d lock me up and throw away the key.
My asylum is this madhouse called sanity.
Okay, I can untie you now.
I’ll let you lick your wounds.
Tell me that wasn’t better than sex.
You should speak it to everybody.
I almost read it to a little girl
who was playing with pigeons.
When she said she hated those birds,
I sat down.
I asked her if she wanted to hear a poem.
She said, “Sure.” I opened my notepad to here.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I lie so well, I confused myself.
No poetry today.” I stood up and walked away.
From more poems from The Tree Outside My Window, please click here.