Kirsti K-Dawg Whalen’s poetry performance of DIRTY

Performed live on Thursday 26th August at the Screening of DIVE! Living Off America’s Waste

Let’s get dirty. Grow spots on your skin ‘til I know your organic and you see you’re not perfect but know not to panic because I want to tear holes in your plastic. And you don’t need to wait for me in rows on a shelf – I’ll find you, even in the dead of night, I’ll find you with bolt cutters and a broken flashlight. I will find you whatever the cost because a use-by doesn’t mean your life has to be lost. I want that use by to beckon ‘til you’re thrown in a dumpster, but don’t worry Baby, I got ya, I’ll love ya.

I want to tear your flesh from within torn exteriors .I want to reach down deep and just kind of feel for ya. I want to rummage around in your deep and dark places, and I love the confusion I see on friends’ faces when I say I found you homeless and slumped in a bin. They think that’s it’s wrong but they know that you’re hot – there’s no denying this urge, the mouth wants what it wants.
So Babe. It’s time to run. Some nights we don’t even know what it is we’re running from. You give me this rush, this forbidden fruit thing – and these scars on these arms and these scabs on these knees. I’ll unravel you in bushes at the side of the road – I can’t wait to discover you, and I have to know. Are you good? Are you all that I want you to be? And some nights I can’t wait to have you inside me. But let’s wash each other down before you meet my lips, let me sizzle your skin before you’re home on my hips.

Why can’t we be together? I’m pretty sure nobody wants you but me. And I don’t use or abuse you; I just take what I need. You’ve got a good heart despite your rough exterior but I was once arrested just trying to be with ya. I said, Dude, come down to the homeless shelter with us, and together we’ll fill some empty spaces. Then tell me how this relationship is wrong when you see the smiles we bring to broken faces. ‘Cos hungry doesn’t belong to street corners – it’s living in empty cupboards in cash-strapped homes. I’ve seen hungry in leathered hands waiting for the caress of a coin – hungry beats in the bones of a world who wastes. Hungry slaps cuffs on my wrists for the waste I can’t take. For the love I can’t share with the things left behind – the outcast detritus of our barcoded lives.

So put some waste on your waist; get some taste from your waste, can’t escape from your waste so just baste in your waste, because what we create is a culture who wastes, so I want you to dive with me. Season your skin ‘til you know you’re unclean. And come on this pirate adventure. There is treasure in chests just waiting for us – you think its just filth but I swear that it’s not. And even if some nights it turns out it is, rub some trash in your soul so you know that you’ve lived.

It’s not right that there’s food and the hungry can’t take it. It’s not right that there’s food and the hungry don’t make it. I don’t know who choose what’s wrong or what’s right. But choose for yourself, when you choose to dive.

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