Poets Against War continues the tradition of socially engaged poetry by creating venues for poetry as a voice against war, tyranny and oppression.
Christopher Ducharme
23 years old
A poet now. I graduated with a 3 year degree in sociology and minor in French. I have 2 brothers and 2 sisters who live on the coast (except my oldest brother lives in Japan). My Mother was murdered when I was 14 years old and my Dad is living in the Okanagan, British Columbia on a houseboat. I am currently single, at the age of knowing mostly what I want and not willing to settle for 95 percenters. All or none with everything. Mostly all.
Racism On All Sides (Statement)
Racism is on all sides. It is cornered. Two situations in one evening is all I can handle. Two teenagers ranting their emotions and fascist beliefs about racism thinking they will convince me of it. They don’t realize that I am already convinced. I believe in its existence, what more can I say? What the hell do you expect me to do when you talk of killing people? I will not remain silent, or act unaffected. My heart pounds. My veins throb. Heart beats break from the words you repeat. “Shut the fuck up!” just isn’t convincing enough. What else can I say? I probe your opinion. Ask a question about the specific happening. Your girlfriend found in a ditch. Dead. Killed. Murdered by a white man again. And he claims that all women who die in the ditches these days are native women killed by white men. I admit; I, too, hate white history, but isn’t it about time we look forward. Someone else’s racism doesn’t make us racist. Racism is a choice. Don’t assume shit. Blame the government. Blame greed. Blame power, but don’t blame me. I am a victim like you. Your x-girlfriend was murdered and she was native. My x-Mother was murdered and she was white. So what? I understand. I am sore. I am sorry, but what does color have to do with you or me? What are you repairing with your hate expression and words? You create hate, which feeds the pre-established natural born hate of this country. This world. This war. And everyone talks of war like it’s something of the past. Everyone talks of war like it’s a fear for the future. No, it’s not. War is here in this moment - destructive. War is the blood dripping down your knuckles. War is the aggression in your voice and the faulty accusations. All of your ranting is not solving a goddam fucking thing. Shut up, hold on, or get the fuck off because I will not listen to your bullshit. I will listen, though, because your bullshit is your pain, and I know pain very well. Everyone on this L.R.T. knows this pain. Take your racist offenses and make change in the code of history. Make change in the politics of the past. You will realize that you can never make a positive change by screaming. Find another way to cope, this alcoholic rage isn’t going to end good. It’s time to stop hoping for others to change. They will never change when you remain the same. I have hoped for people like you to change and I haven’t seen it. I have hoped for the government to change, but I will never see it. I have asked God to change, but only He sees it. So what? What do I do? Fuck you up like a virgin on heroine. Fuck you up because you want me to. Pound your skull with my boot until you bleed blue. I’ll never touch you. Kick me, punch me, spit on me, stab me, gash my fucking eyes out. Take a seat, I’ll sit down beside you and bleed slowly to empty - happily. Grateful to have this pre-written poem to place into your hands before I, too, am considered a murder victim. I have never judged your color because of you. White men have hurt me too.
