"A Well-Worn Story" by Dorothy Parker

In April, in April,
My one love came along,
And I ran the slope of my high hill
To follow a thread of song.

His eyes were as hard as porphyry
With looking on cruel lands;
His voice went slipping over me
Like terrible silver hands.

Together we trod the secret lane
And walked the muttering town.
I wore my heart like a wet, red stain
On the breast of a velvet gown.

In April, in April,
My love went whistling by,
And I stumbled here to my high hill
Along the way of a lie.

Now what should i do in this place
But sit and count the chimes,
And splash cold water on my face
And spoil a page with rhymes?

Bitterness

I listen to these poems

I watch the news

I listen to this music

I hear the conversation

And what I gain from them is bitterness

The taste not-so-sweet

The taste of the feet of marches upon protests

Upon Slave-dress

That bitter

I write a poem about whites, the blacks get bitter

A poem about blacks, the whites get bitter

A poem about gays, the straights get bitter

A poem about straights, the gays they shiver

A poem about Jews, anti-Semites cringe

A poem about terrorism, Muslims don’t win

A poem about abortion

A poem about slavery

A poem about melanin

No one will be pleased

Someone will take offense

And someone will hoot and holler in agreement but the problem will continue

Intolerance will exist

And your verse

And that slur

And your opinion is only bitterness

Like I said before no one will be pleased

See there will always be a minority

There will always be a bias against you

And yes it’s sad

And yes its cruel but that is human

That is nature

That is the world, sick as it is, we live in

Very few sweet things come of it

And your tongue tastes bitterness

I could write a poem about God

But bitter people will assume religion

I’m only spitting to bring to light your bitterness

See he’s the only sweet thing I’ve tasted and unbiased thing I’ve seen

And yes you can preach about how he hates

The whites for twisting his book

Hates the gays for loving same

Hates the people of other faiths and beliefs

You can preach about how he caused this bitterness

To swell inside you

And how you now have cause to be defiant

Mind you my dear persecuted girl

What are you persecuted for?

Your skin? Your orientation? Your religion? Your slavery?

We are all slaves to sin

But we tend to forget that part of the story

We tend to forget Adam and eve

We tend to neglect that God came down

That God dwelled among the crooks and gays

That God walked with prostitutes and slaves

And that God died for the White man’s hate

We focus on our issue

Make ourselves victims

Take that infertile soil and spread it across our tongue

Ingest it with our bread

And call ourselves righteous for having a cause

To “fight” for

See man, is not gracious

Man, is not accepting

Man, is not loving

Man is not God

And whoever your God might be

Just know I respect you but my God is greater

My God is creator

My persecution is temporary

And my burdens are light

My skin is black

My hair is naps

My faith is hated

But I know in my heart

And I taste on my tongue the sweetness of heaven

I am who God created me to be

And I know not everyone will accept me

I know not everyone will want to associate with me

Or allow me to certain human “rights”

Because of where I come from or what I look like

But my only rights come from God all mighty and

No man or woman can make me feel like

I am not loved

You are loved

You are accepted

You are beautiful and perfect and worth it

In the eyes of God our father

And he wants you to see you through his eyes

And believe me once you do

All the haters, all the politicians, all those against you

Won’t matter

Oddly enough you’ll learn to love them

And see them how God sees them

And let them not affect you

And the bitterness will slowly slip off your tongue

And the burden will be lifted away

And the scars will fade

Life won’t get easier, but it’ll sure taste a lot sweeter.