A Poem for Dzhokhar: Amanda Palmer Writes Poetry For Boston Bombing Suspect


Amanda Palmer is a musician, a poet and an internet troll. The singer’s “Poem For Dzhokhar” has created a stir on the internet as people have been criticizing Palmer for exploiting the Boston Marathon bombing.

The poem, which attempts to tell Dzhokhar Tsarnaev all of the things he doesn’t know about the world, has become the subject of a constant stream of online criticism.

One user writes: “This isn’t a poem for Dhjokhar, it’s a poem for yourself because you imagine you know how he feels. This just makes you the CNN of poets… Please don’t make this about you, and don’t make your own feelings into his feelings using the megaphone you wield.”

Palmer has defended herself on her site saying that the poem really isn’t about herself or Dzhokhar. Instead, the singer says that the poem is about everyone.

Of course, in order to believe that you’d have to forget what you just read in her poem.

Palmer writes: “You don’t know how precious your iphone battery time was until you’re hiding in the bottom of the boat.”

This, of course, refers to the final standoff between Dzhokhar Tsarnaev and police. Palmer’s poem for Dzhokhar is filled with other details from the bombing and the manhunt so lets toss Palmer’s argument to the side for the moment. And instead, let’s focus on the fact that at the bottom of the poem there’s a link requesting that people give her donations.

In Palmer’s defense, there is also a link The One Fund which will support the victims of the Boston Marathon bombing.

You can read Amanda Palmer’s “Poem for Dzhokhar” on her website or check out a snippet below.

you don’t know how it felt to be in the womb but it must have been at least a little warmer than this.

you don’t know how intimately they’re recording your every move on closed-circuit cameras until you see your face reflected back at you through through the pulp.

you don’t know how to stop picking at your fingers.

you don’t know how little you’ve been paying attention until you look down at your legs again.

you don’t know how many times you can say you’re coming until they just stop believing you.

you don’t know how orgasmic the act of taking in a lungful of oxygen is until they hold your head under the water.

you don’t know how many vietnamese soft rolls to order.

What do you think of her poem? Is she exploiting the tragedy in Boston for her own gain?

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