Washington is Bullshit
A poem about neither main party working for the people.
Afraid of commitment, I don’t know which side I belong on.
I don’t fear, I know that I create triangles
A hundred and eighty reasons to be cynical,
But I am still searching for partisan Girl Scout Cookies.
Sell me on something.
I’m looking to shop, I was an investor.
But now I own my own business.
I don’t mind quenching my lust, though.
Spent a week on vacation, I hated it.
Alone. It should’ve felt like Chauvin’s tendon rupturing against public tide.
But, the party is a bigger production,
And I am not sold.
I wrote and I read.
I dug my own hole deeper to find hope.
But all there was to find was dirt and sweat,
And a dash of regret and refrain. I fell limp.
I looked to the next week, not for answers but for relief.
Not a transition, but moral figuration towards understanding.
I wanted this side to be brief, robust, and non-discrete.
But, they were hazardous, ignorantly phony and defeated in principle.
They were victims of incoherent partisanship.
And I was desperate for someone.
Anyone. They could have been full of shit, but all I wanted was for it to be accurate.
And I would have listened.
Maybe not switched, I am already decided.
But I wanted to catch a glimpse,
Be grapes unafraid of unwashed feet
Or astrologers ignorant of comets.
I wanted to feel relief.
Security that a group may be fed adequately,
Yet, none are beyond depravity.
And we are all left to be deemed as savagery.
We are statistics. Even those against the process.
All we ask is for our vote to count, but do our voices ever pass our own mouths?
They rarely do, and we are stuck fighting me and you.
Oppositions, though, we are really victims of the same coup.