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deerhoof:

sooo i wrote a slam poem today.. :3 i thought i’d you know share..

this light,
city light,
street light,
street car
boxcar
clicking across the pavement like
students on uppers to be downers on
macintosh computers, how privileged
this house
our house
city house
city empty
fritter empty
lemonade stand is closed.
fire-breathing children trapped in twenty year old bodies smoke clips of hash and bleach
because they heard (i heard) it makes you look good.
and i know by god we all have to look good
teeth bared yellow hoods
bandanas to hide scars of what we’ve denied,
electrified,
mesmerized,
by golden underwear on models too thin to stay still,
no don’t move yet no please don’t we need to get our fill
of images and reminders that we can’t be perfect till
we covet what we can’t afford and those who can will
lose their hope when mirrors say “this is the last hill
starve only thighs hips face arms collarbones till you fit the bill”

i lost it when i saw her look into the window and say
“this is what i want to look like by next may”
i bit at bones too obvious, and spit out the words, hey
there is a better way
to look good and not have to starve and lay
on the numbers on the scale all day

to hold that guilt of calories
malories
emergencies
like they’re felonies
cause all you can see
is imperfection, softness is lost
on you when you go down that road because for you softness is the cost
of breakfast and lunch and sometimes, dinner too.

for some reason we are told that it’s wrong
to appreciate what we have because before too long
our gracious gifts of seafoam skin and breasts and bongs
are left behind on the pursuit of hip bones
collar bones
rib bones
telephones
always going so we know we are loved.

the television tells us it is not enough to see them by day, by god if i can’t make it
to parties every weekend i am clearly unfit
to be anyone’s friend or lover, it’s my face, it’s my tits
it’s my breakouts, it’s my stomach, and i ignite, lit
enraged by how callously these women teach other women to speak to themselves.

we are only supposed to smile when we are smiled at
and only when we’re drunk or high can we laugh
we can’t love ourselves- we’re vain we’re bitches and that
is how we find imaginary things that are wrong with ourselves.
why can’t i love myself? well that’s because i’m fat
i’m a nothing, i’m lonely and so i should get off my
high horse high stand high hat
you’re only gonna get laughed at
if you do what you want
or if you go ahead and flaunt
what you’re made of.

there is no lady love
between us anymore, we always find something to hate
about girls we think are prettier, so we criticize what they ate
what they wore or all their mates
their boyfriends, their fuckbuddies, their hair, how they’re always late
to know what’s wrong with everyone else

but i want you to know that there’s nothing wrong with you
you’re beautiful and shining and perfect through and through
do what you love, there’s nothing to lose
but the respect of the companies, the industry, the one who’s
told you you were not good enough, so get out and move,
get out and lose,
get out and earn
to buy into a lifestyle that will have you working at their firm
informing little girls of the same poison, telling
them they they are not enough, selling
them the idea that they can be perfect with just a purchase.

love yourself and you have nothing to lose
but the years of regret and shame and grooves
left in you from repeats of the same bullshit moves
they’ve always tried with you.

even if you cannot be the voice for your generation right now, it’s okay
because one day
someone is going to wake up and realize what they need to say
to get the attention of everyone impoverished, body and mind, and it may
just change the world. but right now today
you just need to step back
look at yourself
and realize
you’re fine who you are, right now.
you’re okay.