Wedding banned.

I guess you could call me
an anti-traditionalist,
a cultural iconoclast
Someone who debars
the spin doctors who twist
farce into suits and ties
and flowing white dresses
this is the message:
You’re too young for this heaviness

Too naive to breathe enough lies
into ear to leave her breathless
and be able to inhale the consequences
Come to your senses
I was transplanted
to this culture of silence
where smiles and beguiling wiles
come in a package tied with
half truths and plastic smiles
Don’t tell me I’m out of line
I pierce through your white veil
With the fire behind my eyes
That ignites before
Your fresh baked line of crap
starts going stale
So you’re male and female
you’ve grasped the anatomy
but never really grasped it
because, “That would be sinful
wouldn’t it, baby”?

Please, you’ve just got lust
teeming from the tip of your teeth
you just strap all the “bad things” down
And swallow your human nature
rather than acknowledge the fact
that you’re flirting with the edge of disaster
You’ll just get their faster
It’s not a crime to tell her she’s beautiful
You won’t get locked up for saying she’s fine
But a jail break’s gonna be necessary
gotta plan your escape
When you think about her when you master…
Wait a minute,
this is like cars parked in a back lot
their tenants behaving like animals in feed lots
its feeding time
the food is diamond
You had her at “die”
But you failed to let her know
that the ring is a lie
the jewelry’s a bracelet
one for each side
there’s chain in between
to links ’round her waist
to keep her in line
look at that, it even tells her the time
So she’ll remember and you’ll forget
the date this all transpired.

You remember the look in her eyes
when you got on her knees,
popped open that bear trap
containing the keys
You drank fully too many times
of the liquor in her lips
so it surprised no one
when you popped the question
then fell over drunk
laughing hysterically
when the trap slapped shut
on her finger
not grasping the life you just cut off
with the closing of that box.

Call me a cynic
A critical whispering
professionally paid lip-service
Internally burning the words
you say to me
Cognitively, I have to think to not speak
When you, at the ripe age of 19 and 20
decide to stand before God and sign away
till death do you part or at least that’s what you say
repeated lines from the mouth of a minister
memorized since she was bread to breed
To accept that ring and blindly heed
This culture of matrimony and emotional greed
You’ve just gotta stay high
and for him its the train of her dress
the lace of her veil
a white social narcotic
You’re far too young to be hopped up on
Hers is a broken thought process
that sends triggers the pleasure centers of her mind
whenever she says, “I am his and he’s mine”

I am 26 as I write this
sick of this mess
Full blown excited that life isn’t like this
For me.
You can call me bitter like bad beer
Or sweet like nicotine or, if you prefer
Deadly nice and sickly cynical
Either way, I am of a firm conviction
that if I’d have been married at 20
which I wanted I’d be miserable today
That’s not to speak ill of the girl I was with
But the knowledge and growth I’ve gained
in six years since then
Have grown me further into this six foot three frame
And I can’t and won’t take it back now
No pity, no shame
It’s in my name to be lifted up by the Father
So I take my altitude with out attitude, with gratitude
and lastly, humility
knowing one day I’ll just as easily be made lowly.
And it will not happen slowly.


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