primitive,

filled in Poetry 

Written by Joey Coverson April 28, 2008
 � 2008


From Western ideology
children deserve an apology,
Just because my chronology
Is not up to the level of Your epistemology,
i am a primitive,
Not a Definitive Citizen?

Westerners criticize
Other countries that are little, where little
boys and girls
Are not treated like pearls
Inside a clam,
Germinating, waiting,
Waiting�
Waiting for the day
When they can be seen
And heard
And get a seat at the Big Person Table
And attain the label:
              Adult
But why is that The Goal,
Shouldn�t my ideas not be shaded
So that in this life
i don�t become jaded?
Oh, i get it now,
If You classify me
As a child,
Purge from me the wild,
Put all my ideas on trial,
With a bias jury
Who have no intention of
Respecting me for me,
Because i�m a she,
Or a he,
It doesn�t matter,
i know that in the deliberating room
There won�t be much chatter,
Only a unanimous vote
How did i know?
Here comes the trope,
If the jury childishly
Dismisses me,
Adulthood becomes the Goal.
And upon attaining It,
i�ll somehow understand
That once i have grown up, and
become a Wo,
Or a Man,
i will see why right now i can�t just live,
But must remain a primitive,
Not a Definitive Citizen.

With all the ambiguity
With all the lunacy
Surround�ding!
me and what to do with me,
Because �i�m not of age�
And �can�t think for myself�
And therefore am placed on a shelf,
Until you want to use a picture of me
To get money for Your favorite
third-world country,
But i�m told to sit!
And have patience, for
The United Nations
Are to hold a convention
And produce a lengthy extension,
In which my rights are
Laid out like stations
In a relay-race against time, but
In the country where i live,
Oh no, the U.S. did not sign,
So here i dine,
At the children�s table,
With the other �unstable�
primitives,
Not Definitive Citizens.

By crisscross-applesauce i sit,
In my trench,
With Zen-like patience,
While They hold that conference
To discuss nonsense
That is beyond sense
When it duals with my heart
That says i should never be apart
From my mother,
Nor my father,
Who like me are primitive,
Not Definitive Citizens,
Because their skin is brown
Thus they�re weighed down
And have to watch the Government
Not give two shits
About Brown,
V. Board of Education,
In which the decision was made
But even today is still not obeyed
That those pretty little White faces
Had to come out of the shade,
And mingle with us,
The primitive,
Not Definitive Citizens.


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