Why I chose never to vote
Wednesday 19 March 2008
Today marks the fifth anniversary of the day President Bush announced from the Oval Office the “opening stages of what will be a broad and concerted campaign” to invade Iraq.
As a homeless man, I was never allowed the opportunity to vote.
As I became aware of the political process, and not just as some childhood fascination which held my attention, and held it fast like a child finding pornography for the first time, I became aware of what was really at stake. I was at stake. Me. I was. Not who I am, but literally me. This was to be a game with very high stakes indeed.
I refused to play.
My vote will never be cast.
Since I have not participated in voting, it’s rare I make any statement whatsoever regarding Politkkks. I write poems, some good, many miserable, and amatureish, slamming themselves against the world with a hopeless vain attempt at making sense of the blind rage, confusion, hopelessness, despair, heartache and humorlessness I see painted on the walls of today, yesterday and tomorrow. Poetry matters where my vote did not.
Wednesday 19 March 2008
Today marks the fifth anniversary of the day President Bush announced from the Oval Office the “opening stages of what will be a broad and concerted campaign” to invade Iraq.
What poem can stand up against a force which defied world protests and demanded blood from human beings to profit a select few with monetary gains?
I feel sadness in the world.
I feel heartache in the world.
I feel confusion, hopelessness, and blind rage in the world.
Poetry still matters.
My vote never will.
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Okay,
