Tuesday, 1 December 2015

Routines for Blood Relations

It always makes you so nervous to see the doorknob turning
On the white door with the silver handle praised
With fingerprints galore
Naked to plain eyes, the DNA of which I am ashamed to share
There are so many faces on the bathroom tiles to judge our houseguests
Frowns flipped upside down and talking shit about the foreigners, yet familiar
As they indulge a moment of peace on the ceramic throne
The visiting hours are always the busiest upon arrival
Individually, they come in truckloads for free
And sleep on the carpet of our rented floor
In the surname of exploitation
It seems a meal is more important than a good night’s sleep
And sleeping does not concern the rich when they feed off the poor
We still serve them with smiles plastered over the suffering they know so well
But never enquire about
We can only hate our families for so long
Before they come knocking again
And abuse our women
They take for granted her ticking days
A standard phone call is inadequate
Who eyeballs the window frame for family and combs hair
Silvered from distress  
Who suffers the nonexistence of youth as each day dawns over
The threat of disappearing for good
The salt her eyes have shed, put the oceans to shame  
As children forge their allies and form teams and partners and clubs
What kind of a family waits for funerals for reconciliation  
It is a primary school where these people go
It is a circus of no talent  
I am mortified, but silent always, for the risk is too much to voice opinions
They won’t take their anger out on me
But the tenth child
The woman who they deem responsible
For every cause
The treatment as the institution for marriage counseling and general rehabilitation
Those ungrateful scumbags
On hold
Who come in need and leave without heed for us
And they wonder why, when karma strikes
Those selfish actors with the greedy grins on weathering faces
Being selfish ages you faster
Cancer is the only wake-up call
Gambling was designed to unite, delight, and spark war
The baker is the real breadwinner, and the Victoria Bitter is
The spokesman for the once sober and
Too shy 
The catalyst for conflict, watch as the thief beams with dollar signs on his retinas  
They will never cease not to be themselves
Be yourself
Is the worst advice if generalized for an entire population as this
Why does popularity still matter to a bunch of adults
What happens to the cool kids with no sense of identity
Suck ups are so cringe worthy
Commend the strangers and bash your family members instead
The struggles underlying our college days never die on the schoolyard
After all
I need to learn how to be as careless as my siblings
Who they are very much afraid of
Who also built her reputation of being cold, over several years of major mood swings
They know nothing about taking her temperature
As one little cunt declares in regards to herself, “I am science!”
In response, shiver only in the role of the patient listener
Imagine if it were the only family doctor
They always assume silence is respect
It is deadly contempt rather
It’s a competition to prove who loves their mother more when no one really does