they/them | 30s | honorary weird sad girl | don't like my personal posts | minors DNI
personal poetry blog:
awindyattic.tumblr.com
blog for other people's poetry I like:
abellinthecupboard.tumblr.com
Years ago, over a decade ago now in fact, I was riding Amtrak's "The Vermonter", southbound toward NYC for a very rare personal trip. The train limits passengers to two carryon pieces, and additional luggage costs an additional fee. As we rode over the rattling rails the conductors went through the coaches checking tickets. A few rows ahead of me in my car was seated a tall young woman, very beautiful and evidently pampered, wearing a cream dress suit with her long dark hair in fashionable loose waves, and my car's conductor, a tall, handsome young African-American man, slender and broad-shouldered, stopped to make conversation with her. She told him in a blasé voice, in that specific tone halfway between complaining and philosophical "What can you do?" so typical of rich people, that she was coming back from a skiing trip in Vermont, and that she'd brought four bags of luggage with her which she'd had to pay a fee for; one of her luggage cases was filled entirely with pairs of shoes. The conductor seemed awed, guilelessly impressed with her wealth, self-command, and physical beauty, and he stayed to talk with her for another five minutes before passing on, but I was disgusted with her gluttonous extravagance, and I tuned her out after that initial exchange so I didn't hear the rest of whatever they talked about. An entire suitcase full of shoes; who truly needs such overkill?
Ain't got no home, ain't got no shoes
Ain't got no money, ain't got no class
Ain't got no friends, ain't got no schooling
Ain't got no wear, ain't got no job
Ain't got no money, no place to stay
Ain't got no father, ain't got no mother
Ain't got no children, ain't got no sisters above
Ain't got no earth, ain't got no faith
Ain't got no touch, ain't got no god
Ain't got no love
Ain't got no wine, no cigarettes
Ain't got no clothes, no country
No class, no schooling
No friends, no nothing
Ain't got no god
Ain't got one more
Ain't got no earth, no ?
No food, no home
I said I ain't got no clothes
No job, no nothing
Ain't got long to live
And I ain't got no love
But what have I got?
Let me tell ya what I've got
That nobody's gonna take away
I got my hair on my head
I got my brains, I got my ears
I got my eyes, I got my nose
I dot my mouth, I got my smile
I got my tongue, I got my chin
I got my neck, I got my boobies
I got my heart, I got my soul
I got my back, I got my sex
I got my arms, I got my hands
I got my fingers, got my legs
I got my feet, I got my toes
I got my liver, got my blood
Don’t believe it, my friend, don’t believe it
When in a fit of grief I say that I stopped loving you—
Don't trust the low tide, don't trust the betrayal of the sea,
It returns to the earth, loving.
I'm already sad, full of the same passion,
I will give you my freedom again—
And the waves are already running, with their opposite noise,
From afar to your favorite shores.
Don't believe it, my friend, don't believe it,
Don't believe it, my friend, don't believe it
When in a fit of grief I say that I stopped loving you—
Don't trust the low tide, don't trust the betrayal of the sea,
It returns to the earth, loving.
— Aleksey Tolstoy, adapted by Pyotr Tchaikovsky in his 6 Romances, Op. 6 (source)
anyway I'm not arguing about this, I'd rather be a sparrow than a snail, yes I would, and I'd rather be a hammer than a nail, yes I would. if I only could, I surely would. like it is literally not up for debate, I'd rather sail away, like a swan that's here and gone. a man gets tied up to the ground, he gives the world its saddest sound, its saddest sound. couldn't be any easier to understand