Poetry2ponder's Blog

“The system was built to fuck you” by Trevor Witt

The system was built to fuck you.
The system was built on slavery,
And indentured servitude, a system of patrons,
Indebted servants,
Patronized by the nobility and the patriarchy,
Wealthy families justifying their lordships,
As protectors and promoters of Christendom,
Divine right and absolute rule,
As though God himself – because He’s a “he” –
Came down and named the fools he favored,
Because the scroll says so,
Because the nobles are descended from heroes,
From Arthur and Charlemagne, Genghis Khan and David,
From the Kennedys, the Vanderbilts, and the Rockerfellers,
From Trump and Thiel and Musk.

The system was built to fuck you,
Like Dominique Strauss Kahn did when he “allegedly” assaulted a maid,
Like Trump and Epstein did when they “allegedly” raped a thirteen-year-old girl,
Like Wall Street did to small business,
Like Putin is doing to Ukraine.

The system was not made for making Love.
It was made for fucking.
It was made to hold the status quo —
We ended slavery, but tolerated Jim Crow.
We emancipated blacks, but wouldn’t let women vote,
We let them vote, but won’t allow abortions, even with a doctor’s note.

The system was built to fuck you.
Maybe it’s fun sometimes,
But, later on, you’re left wondering why,
Why can’t I save no matter how hard I try?
Why is my medical bill so damn high?
Why can’t I afford to move somewhere else?
Why don’t I have time to take care of myself?

The system was built to fuck you.
It doesn’t ask how your day was.
It doesn’t make an attempt to know you.
The system inserts itself, penetrating our lives,
Without our consent, the system rapes us,
Using us — again and again and again.

Fuck the system.
I believe in people.
You and me, we,
We can do better,
We can be free,
We can love one another.
We can succeed.

The system was built to fuck you.
Fuck the system.

“The truth is . . .” by Trevor Witt

The truth is . . .
Dark times are ahead,
The selfish dotards and greedy trust-fund babies
Are seeking to keep the working class poor,
And to pit us against one another,
But every human deserves housing,
And every human deserves a home,
And every child deserves safety,
Of his father’s guns being locked up,
Of his mother’s abuser not having access to a bullet,
Of an environment free from poisons.

The truth is . . .
It’s not even all the selfish dotards,
And it’s not all the trust-fund babies,
It’s the Murdochs and the Mercers,
It’s the Trumps and the Putins,
It’s Michael Flynn and his plan to take the Saudis nuclear,
It’s the al Saud family – legitimized by the Wahhabis and billions of dollars.
It’s the billionaire Prince family with Erik’s private mercenaries.
It’s Louis Freeh – working for oligarchs tied to organized crime.
It’s Giuliani, son of a loan shark enforcer, friend of Sam Kislin.

The truth is . . .
These people underestimate us.

The truth is . . .
We are so much more than pawns.
We are kings and queens, bishops and knights,
We are movers and shakers, the workers of the world.

The truth is . . .
We are families and neighbors,
In love with our communities.
And we will rise above.

“Light the fire” by Trevor Witt

Now is not the time to sit still.
Now is not the time to hold our head in our hands.
It is time to stand up and go for a walk, a march.
It is time to go grab some cardboard to make a sign.
It is time to imagine a better world, to design our dreams,
To elevate each other, to lift up our sisters and our brothers.

It is time to reach higher,
To meditate on what gives us meaning,
To focus on that which we love with all of our being,
And to bring forth that passion into our world.

It is time to light the fire.

“I will collapse” by Trevor Witt

I will collapse,
Running around like a fool,
Half chicken, half head-less,
As busy as a bee,
And dying off like the dinosaurs,
Trapped in tar, killed by an asteroid,
Unable to avoid disaster,
The impact was inevitable.

I don’t mind.
I just wish I had

A hand to hold.

“Flirting” by Trevor Witt

My mouth is afraid,
My tongue wants to hide,
My brain races, like a car weaving through traffic,
The thoughts of “how to flirt” pile up like a ten car wreck,
And I am looking for a route through this mess.

“Thank God for you” by Trevor Witt

Thank God for you,
My friends and family,
I would have been a workaholic,
But you convince me to stop,
Imploring me to relax,
To smell the roses,
To take a jog,
To play guitar.
I work so hard so that I can spend more time with you,
More money, more eating what we want,
Going out to restaurants I could not afford otherwise.
I work so that I can buy you gifts,
And yet, so often, I can’t.
I work so that I can pay my bills.

But you are the reason I strive.

I strive to go further, and faster,
To push myself to my limits,
And to break them.

For you, my dear,
I am a trabajador.

“So much to do (one day)” by Trevor Witt

So much to do,
I need a pen,
And a laptop,
And a notebook, and a binder,
To write a list, an essay,
To organize my thoughts,
To learn how to compartmentalize,
To sift through the unsorted information,
So I could determine its importance.

Underpaid, working for free,
For my dreams, for me,
Because I cannot bear
To give up, on my small corner
Of the paradise in my mind,
I must renew and refresh the dream,
Pruning dead leaves, and fighting off pests,
Watering my soul until joy sprouts like a weed.

Every single day,
Every, single, day,
I fight – to improve,
To break old patterns,
Depression, suicidal thoughts,
Negative self-talk – the words “I can’t”.

Those words stand before me like massive gates, blocking my entrance to Heaven.

Those words stare at my eyes, breaking into my soul, and turning my rock-hard will to sand.

Those words always want to fight me, telling me I’m not good enough – I’m weak.

I can’t bear to let “I can’t” win.
I can’t go on giving up.

I can’t do it — yet.

I can’t do it — now.
But one day, I will.

One day,
One day is not enough.
But one day, taking one step,
Plus one day, taking another step,
Plus one more day, ad infinitum,
One day – on repeat – to build something new –
One day is all I need.

“Falling asleep with the words driveling out” by Trevor Witt

Falling asleep with the words driveling out,
Like slobber from an open mouth with closed eyes,
With my pen in hand and my notebook on my lap,
I crumble like a cookie left out for too long —
The last one in the box.

Waiting for my brain to catch up,
To send the signals that I need,
To send myself to reset, to rest,
But I reject and delete those messages,
Refusing to take that journey away from my work.

“The Grief of a Father” by Trevor Witt – dedicated to Brittney Griner

I wish this pain upon no one,
Haven’t seen my daughter in four months,
Don’t know when – or if – I will see her again,
A prisoner of a madman, Russia’s Il Duce,
She has been held in a cell, as a pawn,
By this war criminal judoka, who fancies himself a chessmaster,
To avoid war, they’ll let my little girl suffer.
To avoid direct confrontation, they’ll let tens of thousands die.
But you cannot avoid me; my love is constant.
You cannot hide; my wrath knows no limits.
If you kidnap my daughter,
I shall kidnap your officers.
If you shell my towns,
We will burn your barracks.
If you starve us,
We will pile our lifeless bodies
Upon your gardens and in your cities.
We will find you, when this war is over,
On any corner of this earth, in any cave.

G-d does not sleep.
Nor will I.

“My selfish prayer” by Trevor Witt

My selfish prayer asks for your love,
My selfish heart obsesses over my desire.
My giving, living soul seeks your happiness.
My larger self gives space for your larger self.

I wish to be the tree growing beside your tree,
Not the bird eating your fruit.

“A long day” by Trevor Witt

Lunch breaks in the car,
Taking a 10 to pay a bill,
Buying frozen pizza for dinner,
Too tired to cook,
Too broke to think about saving(s),
I’m going to enjoy my bourbon and my stout.
I’m going to give it my all — letting it all hang out.

Eight hours of work,
Three hours of side hustle,
Two hours of a hobby,
Another hour of a second side hustle,
And a one and a half hour commute.

And friends and family.

It’s been a long day this year.

“Dive Deep” by Trevor Witt

Dive deep,
Into the stillest waters of your soul,
Bring an oxygen tank,
In case the depths take your breath away,
Examine your life below the surface,
Swimming in your mind,
Look at the love floating all around you –
– even in the darkness, it shines.
Explore your ocean floor and volcanic vents,
Learn about your tectonic plates and what makes you quake.

Seek to understand your still, hidden lakes,
Before you drift with the currents and the tides.

“What To Do With A Memory” by Trevor Witt

Do I put it in the closet?
In a shoebox, on the shelf?
Or under the bed, behind the laundry basket?
Do I say “goodbye” and give it to the Salvation Army?
Or do I tear it up and throw it away?

To photographs, the posters — even my shoes,
Carrying meaning only I understand,
But it has been so long since
That present lived in my hand.

Yesterday has flown away,
It’s time to let new memories play.

“Baby” by Trevor Witt

Baby,
Pacifier, socks,
Shirts, diapers,
Pooping and vomiting,
Waking up all night,
Sleeping in shifts,
I look forward to your mess,
Your adorable face,
Covered in spaghetti sauce,
Food all over the floor.

Until then,
I will work on cleaning my own mess,
And preparing my world for you.

“Affogato” by Trevor Witt

A-ffogat-oll about it.
The bitter pain I espress,
In order to expel my regret,
Is rooted in the sweetness,
I scream,
Ice cream, surrounded,
By dark chocolate memories,
Of coffee and wine and sex,

I am over it,
Ready to consume heavenly bliss.
Affogato —
As delicious as a kiss.

“Afraid Of My Words” by Trevor Witt

I am afraid of my words;
My message might be misconstrued.
It will certainly be read late —
After my thoughts have moved on —
But my feelings are – or were – true.

Can I handle you, judging me?
Wrong question!

Can I accept me?

“Tangled” by Trevor Witt

Attempting to untie the knots,
In my feelings — like a ball of yarn,
Yearning to be untangled.
Sometimes, it is better,
To cut the thread.

“One step (in the right direction)” by Trevor Witt

One step (in the right direction),
Two steps (then a third and a fourth),
Tap, tap (a few more steps),
Dada ta, da-ta ta-ta,
Now, you’re dancing,
To your own rhythm.