My Barbaric Yawp
Sorry, Walt
As yawps go, it wasn’t much—
I didn’t even sound out the word.
But as primal screams go,
it was fantastic—
I knocked that shit right into orbit,
My lungs, throat, and soul
screamed out every wrong
masquerading as right,
every lie dressed up as song,
the shadows masked by night.
I screamed the filth, the hate,
the narcissistic manipulation.
The neighbors probably thought I died;
I raised such a clamor
from the very depths of hell,
screaming demons back in time
until my throat was raw with rage
and my heartbeat didn’t matter.
I screamed so loud I scared the dog
and made the crystal shatter.
But I had to get it out
to make room for what’s to come
and whatever remains after.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
I'm a weirdo nerd who’s extremely subversive. I like rocks, incense, and all kinds of witchy stuff. Intrusive rhyme bothers me.
I’m known as Dena Brown to the revenuers and pollsters.
MA English literature, College of Charleston
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1:49am
4/16/25 1:49am I want to breathe death in my larynx and feel loose change in the torn and raggedy pockets of my mother’s cardigan. The water is next to the bed. It’s not cold and never will be. So I guess what’s left is us; we will walk with crooked feet on a path carved by ancient societies. You will borrow my shoes. I will taste vengeance in my tea and convince myself it’s good for my liver. Coffee is fine too. Yes, that’s all. I will think about how I want to kiss you and, the clouds, they will rise to space, and leaves, they will glue their limbs back together. The sun has been out for weeks. This screw isn’t any looser than when I bought it. But I will wake up and I will be in the ship that splits in two and slide my sullen palms across its tundric pillow. I never took swimming lessons so whatever happens is meant to be. I’m sorry if that upsets you. I’m sorry I said that. Anyway, I want to lie nude in wildflowers with ants who build colonies and worms who can’t see. You have a problem with textures. You can’t help it. I could try to tell you things, like how I want my children to understand how little everything is and to not be afraid of the giant fingers that grab at sewing needles in their dreams. I could say it always scared me. It’s just not right. But listen, back to it: I want to indulge in passion and binge affection. Is it a sin if it helps? I will endure the things I am given and inculcate everyone around me to do the same. Do five laps around the block before you respond, whatever helps. I will tell you I want harmony to be palpable and wheels of recognition to be locked in an imperishable gear. Refill the pot if it’s empty. What I want has nothing to do with me. Diagonal tile is cold, you know, and my hair gets crunchy after too long out there. I want this lesson to end.
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Comments (3)
Making room!! Letting it out is important, when you no longer hold back what has been hurting for so long, the release is potent. The start of freedom
this piece captures the kind of release that comes only after deep pain. You can almost feel the freedom echoing through every line.
So powerful! I love how you’ve turned pure emotion into poetry.