Hey Mr. Marl-Bo-ro Man...

When my dear departed friend Barbara quit smoking several years ago she used to say to me sometimes, "I want a cigarette so bad I could rip the lips off a kitten", and I'd laugh at her because WTF? That's crazy talk Barbara! Think of your own cats ma'am! LOL But seriously, it was especially funny because Barbara was a total animal lover and wonderful person who would never harm another living thing, and there she'd go talking about disfiguring a baby cat for want of nicotine. Addiction is hell.



Just to give you a little backstory here, I've been prone to bronchitis for a while now and generally come down with it a least once a year. Over the last couple of years however, it's become more frequent and for a while I was afraid I might have some sort of autoimmune lung issue. I might also be a legitimate hypochondriac, but that's another story for another time.

Irony. You're doing it wrong.

It's funny because it's true.

Earlier today I came across this picture in my news feed captioned simply as "cool".  Feel free to facepalm at any time. I didn't bother to engage the person who shared it over her skewed perception, not because it's not my place (because let's be honest, that doesn't matter to me), but because this person is an adult. She's also a parent. This means that she's raising children. Marinate in that for a moment. Someone who is too thick to realize that this image is a mockery of all her "if you don't support our troops" propaganda is the primary influence on another human being's thought process. Even if I were able to make her understand exactly what the intent of this image is, she would simply misunderstand why someone would make such a statement.

If you don't mind, leave...

Vaya


Who are you to tell our girls
To leave home
Unmarried, to not baby
Our men, to not feed our families,
To have ideas and thoughts
Of not having children, of being
Individuals and finding out
Who they are?
Because leaving is not for you.
Leaving,
Is for runaways and dads

Who are you to dream
Of leaving, when there is family
And they need you
To wash their socks
And scrub their dirty minds
Clean of the scent of you,
Your chubby child’s legs,
The sweetness
They will pluck from you
Don't you know?

And if you leave,
You might tell, you might talk
Like they talk but tell nothing
And no one, but the women
Where their place is
And what kind of pain they have caused them
What kind of happiness
They have cost them.
It is more than they can afford

You're no runaway
It's too dangerous,
Someone might hurt you.
Did we not teach you
That you don't know your name?
You don't have one
Unless it's given to you.
Like permission, to speak
This is not allowed

And we have heard enough
We are older, we are wiser
And accepted our role
Fulfilled the dreams of our fathers
Protected their honour and sacrificed
Our truths. We did that for you
But you, take that tone
Where is your shame
That we nurtured so well,
Our gift to pass down?
Maybe it's better, if you go.

Thursday, March 31, 2011