Sunday, December 19, 2010


note: despite what it seems, this is a poem about the boy, not the musician. be who you are, loves. don't throw your life away trying to be something else.


nights spent in a smoky room,
blunt in hand, 
surrounded by ugly people

you think it will make you like him,
like the drugs will channel through you
and possess you with talent, raw, 
like the chemicals will filter into your system,
illuminating like morning light through a stained glass window 
and teach your fingers how to play,
your voice how to sing,
like your brain will rework itself 
into something better than it is

you are not bob marley

you are just a boy 
who smokes too much.

and marley was just a man
who wrote music 
and made mistakes
and smoked too much

he was not god

it is dangerous
to imitate an artist,
they are the most unreliable 
kind of beautiful

artists crack themselves open
to see what pours out,
examine ribs for lost messages
carved by swallowed demons,
trapped, and open veins 
to see what their pulse looks like

like most poets, he never learned 
to love right

made music
that he loved like a woman,
too hard 
to be healthy

you are a boy
in a room
with a joint.


marley turned his soul inside out
trying to find a way back to trenchtown

he was a poet.
he was a musician.
he was an artist.
he was beautiful.

and you are just stupid enough
to think it was worth it. 

No comments: