welcome to the real america
where if it's not happening to you,
it's doesn't really matter
if it's happening to someone else

if you aren't fucking them,
aren't family, aren't friends
then it's truly every selfish
for themselves

beyond race, beyond gender
beyond every fucking pronoun
you can toss and puree in
"the god just kill me quicker" blender

selfish reigns as the soul becomes
something to devour,
destroy as we grow
ever increasingly numb

technology hookers
and pimps, just the same
dead-eyed kids,
born with a slab of social media
in their face

all "me, me, me"
not you, as in before,
as in placed, the qualities
inner character and grace

things like heart,
they don't pay the bills
and they sure don't get
those bank accounts filled

to say nothing of "followers",
attention beggars and borrowers
good luck if your stomach
finds you bleeding the bullshit
in the stress, strain of "the sorrower"

looking around, in horrid disbelief
says charlie brown, before
self strangulation, "good grief"

as lucy now,
does a lot more, for five cents
has re-assignment surgery to pay
along with an ever increasing rent

bitch can't get by,
with just being a girl
that's not enough
to hoard the spotlight, this world..

even if no one cares,
really notices
welcome to only being
as good, of value as your notices

notice of eviction,
notice of conviction,
notice of omission,
notice of suspicion...

don't trust those weirdo's
who care, when not required
or anyone doing anything
beyond themselves,
beyond self gain or ego-maniacal
need, hole feed, to be admired

in all the wrong ways,
as in, for all the wrong things
a buffet of sloth
and "scarf down", see?
"onto the next"
and what they can bring..

to the party, "get it starting"
"smile big and bright" for the praise
don't be pensive, thoughtful, don't
that will get you thrown away,
not raised

up, as in successful
"deep" is not desired, it's stressful
on the body, and taxing, on the mind
it does not pay
to be "one of a kind"

the kind, of what?
you may, won't ask?

the kind that is alive
not for "the game", the mask
the kind as seen,
"not up to the task"
the kind for whom
the crowds do not bask

in the shadows, in the streets
head held down
or hiding under pillows and sheets

just wanting to get the hell
out of this place

the real america now,
land of the selfish,
greed and gain imbibed,
inhuman race

an artless artifice,
in the name of
"no one else exists, but me"

a disgrace.

(thank god, yes, for the nurses, the healthcare workers, the caregivers, the caretakers, the few true friends,
and the "last life lovers" that do, yes, shine and still exist here, outnumbered, in this day and age, and time)


bowen hart roselli
4 december 2020
ringwald love