I lit a candle for you

wooden beams and spackled walls
stain-glassed windows, blessèd halls
a shepherd’s crook, a silly hat
blood-red robes, filled up by fat
Man on cross hung up by nails
he dies each week for our many fails
people don’t know they disrespect
although no manners are left unchecked
whispered comments, a bit too loud
crinkling candies passed among the crowd
dessert before dinner,we’re having bread
hold the holy water, we’re drinking wine instead
saints and idols left and right
broken commandments in plain sight
babies, children making noise
parents soothe with clinking toys
what holy place have we disturbed?
spirits watching must be perturbed
withhold yourself the pleasures of life
abstinence will carry you through strife
renewal of promises, laying on of hands
one ticket to paradise without any demands
come Holy Spirit, let your light shown down
your congregation rests its knees on hard ground
accept a sacrifice unto your lips,
but pray first so it doesn’t go straight to hips
it is places like this that make me question
what praise to God is hollow ceremony and and empty tradition.


Hateful, full-lipped, painted mouths open to reveal pearl white teeth and a tongue
Yelling about something that happened a year ago and their
Polished nails reaching up to scratch the cupboard doors in an
Outrage that has nothing to do with the poverty in the world or the
Children crying in the streets, while their well-fed stomachs digest store-
Ripened fruit and TV dinners and their eyes witness violence they have caused.

I am one that stands against
This atmosphere of death and fear they have created
In hopes of breaking a person down, in hopes of destroying a spirit because
Committing an action that everyone does is unforgiveable, unredeemable
And, to them, unreasonably irrational – to them, those that don’t even know that
Litigation requires an actual violation to combat.

Believing that intelligence still exists in this world
Is impossibly difficult when viewing the catty claws collaborating
Together in time-wasting activities of devising new ways in being miserable
‘Cause there is nothing better than making sure that everyone suffers at manicured
Hands, fake tans, vague roots growing in, growing into an

Enigma, a tangled mess of problems ultimately caused by them
Some which are not real, but rather: devised.

Must they constantly thrust their toxic bleach-blond, berry-glossed, pink-powdered, and
Ugly, hearts into the business of the world while at the
Same time remaining just out-of-touch-enough
To ignore anything real and beautiful and rational – opposite of them.

Did they just scream the word “Slut!”, in absolute
Ignorance, of one of their “friends” and did they at last
Envelope the last bit of hope for the world in a cloud of Pink perfume


A bunch of children have just died in a child slave labour factory  so they could
Label themselves with BlackBerry and Apple and something called Aritzia,
So their peers can recognize that they exist on the same level of who can
Overachieve in ignorance and selfishness and ask and answer the question


Fuck what you want, what do I want? And go out into the world to not
Understand what it means to be less than because the most important things to
C—-chicks like them is “look at me and how hott I am, and in case you didn’t
Know, you’re wearing last year’s shoes, loser.” Maybe this seems like an overreaction to

You, the reader of this rant, but read the news and understand why what is deemed
“Out” or “in” this season is far less important than people around the world having rights
Undermined and taken away. Bile rises in my throat – sweeter than their cheap perfume.

Heels, Candy, Sparkles, and Rapper Quotes

You are the sparkliest of the dumb
You are radiant like a chipped diamond
You stand out among the crowd in that
You don’t even try to be different from it

Good for you!

You look like every other person
You talk like every other girl
You wear pink, you breathe pink
You’ve won love, you’ve lost it

You think you have conquered hardships,
but Your hardships are not above anyone else’s
You’ve been stabbed in the back,
but You don’t hesitate to turn around and say hateful words

You can quote the latest rapper,
You have Taylor Swift lyrics on your blog
everyone knows what brands You love
and You can be seen sporting the highest heels at the club

Where some people hang a poster of a forest, a countryside
You post cupcakes; candy and woman’s work is your landscape
You would rather look at a portrait of Yourself than
any dead white guy – a pop-star over Shakespeare

You can quote quotes, but I guess so can a parrot
You can wear the clothes that model had on in Vogue
but I guess even a toddler can play dress-up
it doesn’t really change who you are on the inside, does it?

and it doesn’t matter, since Your friends will always be there
to support You, or stab Your back – sometimes that’s one in the same
and when your claim to fame is strictly insane in that You’re loved
because of how bitchy You’ve been
and not because of the things You’ve seen
and I can’t imagine having even one dream
remotely the same as created in Your monstrous being

lets pump out the drones and breed the clones
and then you can count the number of shoes that You own
and let’s look at the magazines You have stacked
and the celebrities that you’ve seemed to have racked
up to idolize while you’re infantilized
by your friends and loved ones

I can’t wait for the day
when that all disappears when they all go away
because, remarkably enough, there are a million of You
and You’re all interchangeable in a moment or two

Your fame will blow away and it’s quite a shame
that Your beauty will fade and children will take your place
as You breed and spawn while sitting and yawning
babies all over the place and a couple nannies to
instil in them the value of un-love and Hepburn’s grace

while You’re getting fat and old
and the husband count is one untold
You’ll still be happy surrounded by your things
and of course, the dollar amount of Your gathered rings

You’ll see me at the local coffee shop,
but you won’t recognize me
I won’t be there with candy, or glitter, or brand name heels,
and God forbid I should have little ones
bickering over meals

You won’t recognize the happiness I have
because it doesn’t come in a box
or a bag – it’s not attached to a price tag
it’s a not a mink fur or a coat made from fox

it’s not made of candy or glitter or rapper quotes,
it’s not made from the length of my leg in four inch heels
it can’t be bought, and it’s definitely not
found in a bargain bin with dressed up deals

in fact, it comes and it goes
it’s not found or defined by the amount of “hoes”
or “bitties” I’m friends with – in fact use those words with me
and I’ll give you another side de moi to see

while you degrade yourself, and don’t even know it
I’m sitting here, becoming a poet,
and getting as much difference from You and Your hoes as I can
…to think I could ever call someone like you a friend…

Enjoy the glitter, the glamour, the booze,
enjoy “life” as you call it and living with selfish attitudes
live only for Yourself every fucking hour
glory to You in the highest, peace on earth, and new Prada to every man
(waiter, please don’t forget her whiskey sour)