After I stumbled through the gauntlet, after they had hit me
As hard as they could,
Some there only because there was someone else
To be brought in, I joined them
In greeting the new ones, the frightened and longing ones,
And I punched as hard and as much as I could, something
Filling in me I would tell you was a thrill
Only because I had no better word for it.
There was another word for it: violence
Made my mother impatient with me, she would call me evil,
And I knew what she was trying to talk to me about—
How much I hated,
How much I wanted and how greedy wanting made me.
What I wanted most were better words.
...What I wanted most were better words... Wonderful poem.
Such a vilolent act like hazing that led to the death of a young law student who wanted to be a member of a fraternity in a famous university... Those fraternity members resposible for the death of Horacio Castillo are now at large.....
beautiful poem; wonderful expression- How much I hated, How much I wanted and how greedy wanting made me. What I wanted most were better words.
Gangsta poetry. Violence, plain and simple, and somewhat sicko. Good ink.
How much I wanted and how greedy wanting made me. What I wanted most were better words. nicely penned.
And I knew what she was trying to talk to me about— How much I hated, How much I wanted and how greedy wanting made me. Nice poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What I wanted most were better words. Your expectations were not met with. Nicely penned. 10