From: Sarah Reale <luvergrrl69@hotmail

From: Sarah Reale

© S Reale 1999

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Untitled Poem

Listen as I break down the difference between wrong and right.

Watch as I paint the gray between black and white.

Be aware that these are only judgements made by me for myself and be careful not to judge me by the standards in which you judge yourselves.

I'm babbling nonsense into your tired ears, but be sure to pay close attention because one day we may share these tears.

I've been unforgiven and at sometimes by wrong I've been driven, and with the altruism I behold I have in some way payed back the wrongs I've committed, but they're still leaving me breathless at the alter.

Black suits, barroom brutes, camel-toed bitches gettin' naked like light switches, the born again, the most poetic of men all only living to be touched by the unnamed villain in everyone.

Peace on earth good will to men, it's bullshit my friend.

My foes have not done me wrong, because for them I have not cared.

And you my friend, have made me wish only that I had not cared. They ask fate or circumstance?

The question is meaningless to me.

We live in a world so determined to survive that we as humans never have the chance to learn survival.

It is our fate to succumb to evil, and those of us who fight it are not the fittest and will never succeed.

Too deep, too bright, too trapped by fright, too still, too tired, to be admired.

No one wants to be the genius so that the words they speak are foreign, so that the jokes they tell are to dark to be laughed at, so that the feelings they hold are too strong to be felt by any other.

Loneliness cannot be portrayed by any other than he or she who holds this knowledge.

The corrosion of the sidewalk beneath my feet tells me where I'm headed.

The crack-whore on the opposite side of the street will face the same as we reach our destinies.

So where is the line between heaven and hell?

Now is the time, and here is that line.

This civilization is living the dream of eternity and only we can choose our destiny.

END

Waking Up

by Sarah Reale

I'm looking in the mirror.
The picture's getting clearer.
Now, twisting and turning in the glass above my porcelain sink, I become.
No longer flawless like I used to see, embracing everything I be, digging
deeply and creatively, discovering the depths of me. My onyx eyes are my
dominant feature, darkened from nights spent awake to cry, tired from
reaching high to the moonlit sky, to wake up in the same place asking why.
And although my eyes have seen me, they have never truly looked.
Now I'm looking in the mirror, and the picture's getting clearer.
Seeing first Mamas' little boy. I'm stroking her hair at night, whispering
"pony, pony". Evolving into the man of the house cause Mama's lacking a
husband to take the garbage out. GI Joe was my real American hero. Barbie
was fake, not made bald by mistake, planning all of the changes that I
wanted to make. The first of them being the omission of Ken. I remember
the day I put my foot down to say, "I'm not wearing a dress today, hey mom
I'm gay". Now that bald Barbie doll standing alone is looking back at me,
and I like what I see.
The picture's getting clearer.
One step forward, then one step back. I realize that to gain peace, I must
backtrack.
I'm looking in the mirror, and thinking of my history. What signs are
apparent that are linking me with Italy? My skin lies pale upon my face,
far from the darkness where my ancestors trace. He changed my name for his
politics, but now my mind sorts through his colorless tricks. I wanna go
back on that boat with screams leaving my throat, asking for a "mapene" and
having someone know what the hell I mean.
I'm looking in the mirror.
The picture's getting clearer.
I see this child being the first one picked to play in the game called
revolution. Anarchy mutherfucker. This child is me, and although I am she,
I will still aim to be all I can be. I don't need the Army or the
presidency. I wanna stop the race in the demolition derby called hypocrisy.
It's taking over in the world of we, and it's the reason why they'll never
send me off to sea. We are us, and to my disgust there is no one I can
trust. People are testing atomic bombs in cosmic closets that are small
enough to be carried into our countries in suitcases. Just one of these is
enough to take out all of my NYC, including our Statue of Liberty. We have
Congress to speak for her three foot lips , but instead they're fuckin' her
hips and begging for Apocalypse. Front page story: Statue of Liberty sings
hypocracy. And this is what angers me.
I'm looking in the mirror.
The picture's getting clearer.
They wander dressed to impress in Tommy jeans and bulletproof vests. Their
Kenneth Cole boots are singin' the blues, cause they know all along they're
about to lose. They say you can tell where someone has been by looking at
their shoes, but I'm looking in my mirror and I see bare feet. Although
I've been around the block, my schedule is not prioritized by the ticking of
my watch. Narcissism leads to men in prison. A life of sin is not where
I've been, nor where I'm headed. My feet stand naked like my heart, still
living as naive as a baby with nothing to hide. Although I am aware, I
still stop to say a prayer and try to never stare cause I'm afraid of what
I'll find in the disappearance of the glare. I close my eyes in anger that
I cannot express. Out of sadness for the starving and the face of
homelessness. The world has AIDS. These are dying days, and I'm looking in
the mirror.
The picture's getting clearer.
Twirling, swirling, ever mesmerizing, my trusty piece of glass. Waking
every morning I have but one question to ask. Am I strong enough to
complete this task, or will the game of life slowly kick my ass?

end

Other industrial culture works and bio of Sarah Reale