By Daniel Paiz
Body Count is likely not going to be what you expect amongst all the entries for this year’s national poetry writing month. There are a number of different directions to take this. There are, of course, the more obvious ones.
There are also some who might be thinking of the band. Rest assured, there’s no connection to Ice-T at this time. This body count is slightly different than that one.
*Warning: the following piece contains adult themes potentially not appropriate for younger readers. This is merely meant as a mild warning for those not looking to engage in adult content or questioning societal standards and definitions. This is likely one of the only times a warning will preface a poem here.*
“You make ’em shed tears,
while they beg me to make ’em stream more”
or something to that effect from your favorite
stereotypical top 40 song,
but here’s what I’m gonna talk about
in case you haven’t followed along.
It’s pretty simple really,
addressing the double standards so many stand pat upon.
Body count’s more than a band,
this we already know how it goes,
If his count high he’s a G, but if she does numbers, she a hoe,
But how so?
If I’m a whore, then I’m a whore,
“Why did you do it?” is a question asked to so many though,
likely it’s a form of escape, something to get out of real life,
and therein lies the problem,
tilted glass to double lens,
standards not uniform,
yet policing claims to be so,
how does one who wants freaks
impact your well-being or soul?
Besides lack of communication and infidelity,
the rest of it doesn’t really though.
Often times people spout out their condemnations,
because they have unaddressed trauma or shame,
pain doesn’t disappear by burying it,
instead festering until
the toxicity spreads as it drips into
the water runoff, joining the main dam or lake,
fueling more projections,
these bodies of water multiply into algae of pain.