Your Poetry Dot Com - Hairy

Array ( [sid] => 7738 [catid] => 1 [aid] => Mick [title] => Hairy [time] => 2002-12-01 04:20:00 [hometext] => This is not about suicide but about being driven into an "animal-like" state. Not an animal state, which is pure and guiltless, but the kind of "animal-state" that we consider to be wild and dangerous. It could be the birth of a madman, or a serial killer. It could be our present way of life, it could be me, or you... [bodytext] => Hairy

hairy's an ape
who can't take shape
and it makes him scratch his head

it causes him pain
to use his brain
& sometimes he'd rather be dead

where he lives is rough
so he's supposed to be tough
but somehow he just can't do it
because he thinks 'why?'
and it makes him cry
he feels he can't get through it

if you live in a place
called the human race
and you're supposed to be awfully clever
it can be misplaced
to show your face
when what's behind is showing it's fever

it's not okay to be that way
naīve & simple & kind
they make him cry
and want to die
and lose his tortured mind

so he learns to lie
and hide himself
behind the usual faces
to fight for food
and beat the rest
& the hell with usual graces

but his heart still feels
and his mind informs
& he knows it isn't right
that the love he feels deep inside
gets twisted out of sight

& it makes him sweat
to think with regret
of all he did for a 'future'

and he feels so lost
when he counts the cost
of 'success' against his nature

he hoped to be part
but parted himself
and now he's all alone
what once was one
is all undone

and in place of his mouth

is a gun
[comments] => 3 [counter] => 195 [topic] => 43 [informant] => Steeleyes [notes] => [ihome] => 1 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Hairy

Hairy
Date: Sunday, 1st December 2002 @ 04:20:00 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: Steeleyes

Hairy

hairy's an ape
who can't take shape
and it makes him scratch his head

it causes him pain
to use his brain
& sometimes he'd rather be dead

where he lives is rough
so he's supposed to be tough
but somehow he just can't do it
because he thinks 'why?'
and it makes him cry
he feels he can't get through it

if you live in a place
called the human race
and you're supposed to be awfully clever
it can be misplaced
to show your face
when what's behind is showing it's fever

it's not okay to be that way
naīve & simple & kind
they make him cry
and want to die
and lose his tortured mind

so he learns to lie
and hide himself
behind the usual faces
to fight for food
and beat the rest
& the hell with usual graces

but his heart still feels
and his mind informs
& he knows it isn't right
that the love he feels deep inside
gets twisted out of sight

& it makes him sweat
to think with regret
of all he did for a 'future'

and he feels so lost
when he counts the cost
of 'success' against his nature

he hoped to be part
but parted himself
and now he's all alone
what once was one
is all undone

and in place of his mouth

is a gun

This poem is Copyright ÂŠ Steeleyes

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