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To Charles.

Formerly known as "A Blue Fish Playing Peek-a-Blocks is a Sight to Behold".


This last one goes out to anyone who has ever been called a terrorist.

I always wanted to be the black Power Ranger,
but I was told that was racist.
To be honest though, I really wanted to be the yellow Power Ranger.
But she is a girl
and I am not.
They always ask me “what are you?”
Who are you?
Are you one of us?
What is one of us?
Am I one of us?
If us is the human race than I am,
but if us is white or black or brown or yellow or orange
(or whatever colors humans come in these days)
than I am not.
My mother always told me to answer them,
"I am a human being".
And I guess… that is what I am.
I am a human being.
I am a human being.
But human beings tend to do things like
commit genocides and start wars based on religion
or because your women are put lower than our women
or because we think they are
or because we know they are
or because some politician told us they were.
I don’t want to be a human being if that’s to be a human being.
I want to be a fish.
Because fish seem to me like they have not a care in the world.
They just swim around in their oceans
and they look at the pretty colors on the other fish,
but they don’t judge the other fish on their colors.
I always see blue fish playing with red fish
and silver fish playing with black fish
and all the fish are just swimming around aimlessly
and eating food.
But then one of the fish gets caught by a hook
and gets slowly drug up to the surface
and I always imagine that the other fish were swimming around
and trying to process what is happening to their fish friend
who they haven’t been judging.
Then that fish gets taken out of the water and they don’t see him again.
And that fish is taken out of the water by a human being.
And that human being might be a racist.
Probably is a racist
because I think we all are a little racist.
(Some of us are a lot racist.)
What are you?
Well I’m not black.
And I’m not white.
And, no, I’m not a Mexican.
I’m not Hispanic.
I’m not Cuban.
I’m not Puerto Rican.
I’m not a terrorist.
I wasn’t aware all terrorists looked the same.
I wasn’t aware that it was an appropriate question
to ask another human being what are you?
It’s pretty obvious to me.
I’m not a lion or a chimpanzee.
I’m not a fish (even though I might want to be).
I’m not some sort of blimp.
I’m not a car.
I’m not a house.
I’m not some sort of brick lying on the side of the road.
I’m not a rock and roll star.
I’m not a preacher.
I’m me.
And I think that’s all I really ever needed to be.
So be careful before you go throwing around a dictionary
and trying to define every single person based on one term
or based on one idea that you think you might have of them.
Saying he’s black or she’s white
or she’s American or he’s a terrorist.
Don’t throw these things around mindlessly
like a tornado in a room full of blank sheets of paper.
Maybe... that black man over there is a professional concert pianist.
Or maybe that “terrorist” is a CEO.
So much like that game of shapes and pegs and holes
that we use to teach toddlers what a triangle is,
you’ll come to find out that the more you try to fit something into one of these holes.
The more you need a bigger hole...
or perhaps an ocean.


from Strange Things (demo), released April 11, 2014



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Pat and His Whiny Bullshit Gainesville, Florida

I'm Pat. I write poems. Currently a member of Signs of Life (a hip-hop theatre troupe in Gainesville).

Website header photograph credit: Phaedra Brady

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