“Home” by Warsan Shire

The power of poetry; the power of words:

no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city running as well

your neighbors running faster than you
breath bloody in their throats
the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory
is holding a gun bigger than his body
you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay.

no one leaves home unless home chases you
fire under feet
hot blood in your belly
it’s not something you ever thought of doing
until the blade burnt threats into
your neck
and even then you carried the anthem under
your breath
only tearing up your passport in an airport toilets
sobbing as each mouthful of paper
made it clear that you wouldn’t be going back.

you have to understand,
that no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land
no one burns their palms
under trains
beneath carriages
no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck
feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled
means something more than journey.
no one crawls under fences
no one wants to be beaten
pitied

no one chooses refugee camps
or strip searches where your
body is left aching
or prison,
because prison is safer
than a city of fire
and one prison guard
in the night
is better than a truckload
of men who look like your father
no one could take it
no one could stomach it
no one skin would be tough enough

the
go home blacks
refugees
dirty immigrants
asylum seekers
sucking our country dry
niggers with their hands out
they smell strange
savage
messed up their country and now they want
to mess ours up
how do the words
the dirty looks
roll off your backs
maybe because the blow is softer
than a limb torn off

or the words are more tender
than fourteen men between
your legs
or the insults are easier
to swallow
than rubble
than bone
than your child body
in pieces.
i want to go home,
but home is the mouth of a shark
home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home
unless home chased you to the shore
unless home told you
to quicken your legs
leave your clothes behind
crawl through the desert
wade through the oceans
drown
save
be hunger
beg
forget pride
your survival is more important

no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear
saying-
leave,
run away from me now
i dont know what i’ve become
but i know that anywhere
is safer than here

Muse

Alone in my head in the summer of 95,
I purchased a box to play the sounds of escape
in the rhythm of lyrics and passion.

Leaning on the moulding of my bedroom door,
gazing toward the bed of piled
unfolded laundry, screaming for more.

Sipping a newfound latte,
with Madonna in the tape deck,
as she had been for 12 damn years;
stories of longing landed.
---
I only mention this now,
as I realize this was the beginning of a me
beyond the bad that had swallowed the key.

Funny how we wallow in a song
we perceive as a wrong
done, rather than a life to come
in a wakening sun.

Until Recently

I live in North Carolina; and therefore, I am living under the new HB2 legislation (a.k.a. bathroom bill).

Over the last 7 or 8 months, since the popularity of Trump style bullying has gripped certain pockets of America, and this recent fear based legislation (I won't call it hate based, as I think this type of discrimination is based more on fear and ignorance than hate), the quality of my life has changed.

I love Sheetz. (Does everyone know what a Sheetz is? It's a gas station/convenience store/deli, super charged). I couldn't tell you why I love Sheetz, other than the fact that there are a lot of them around here, and so it's convenient -- hence the description, convenience store. Plus, I can have all of the free ice I want for my ice water addiction, all fountain drinks, no matter if I'm a little thirsty or a glutton, are 99¢, and I do like a hot dog now and then.  Most other people that are crowding the Sheetz are there for much of the same reasons, I suspect.  

Lately, I have had some experiences with some guys who look like they might be construction workers, or some sort of outside road crew workers. These particular guys I have had interactions with are, what I'd call, your white, young, lower middle class guys. My experience with these guys is that their values are, typically, conservative, but they are generally always polite, southern gentlemen, until recently.

Let me tell you a bit about me before I continue.  I am a middle aged female who is a bit on the heavy side. Okay. I’m heavy. Whatever! I haven't had a guy hit on me since my early thirties. For the record, I happen to be a lesbian --on the "butch" side-- so the "treat" of a guy's attention hasn't been missed.

I’ve only recently, in the last 15 years or so, become more comfortable in my skin, and am living a truer existence… in other words, I’m not as feminine as I used to be. At first glance, people mistake me for a sir, often, and I have sometimes gotten a second look by women going into the restroom, I guess because, if I'm only given a quick glance, I could be mistaken for a dude.  However, I have never been harassed, or treated with disrespect, until recently.

Within the last few months at Sheetz, one guy literally knocked into me, and whispered, "dyke" under his breath at me. Another time, I was holding the door for a guy, and he refused it. He walked right by me and said, "Nope," and opened the other door himself. A few weeks ago, a guy who is on the feminine side, went into the Sheetz, and was grabbing a cup to get a Slurpee (or the Sheetz equivalent), and was told by one of these guys, that "[he] needed to prance on out of there."

I don't blame Sheetz for this shift, but believe me when I say, there has been a shift, and this animosity is coming from people who are visibly fearful, and they feel they are warranted and clearly, in the right. Why? Because of laws like HB2, and leaders who "model" behaviors. These laws, and someone like Trump, instill fear, superiority, and aggressiveness in people. Each and every time it has happened to me or I've witnessed it, I feel shocked and surprised that this is happening.  

I knew this type of behavior existed.  I remember the treatment that my adopted mama, who happens to be black, received in public when we were out together. I remember the direction given to me by my white supervisors of a department store, to follow any black or brown person who entered the store.  I heartedly believe it was because of the laws that were on the books, and from the behavior of our leaders. It's disheartening.

My experience with this shift is not limited to the Sheetz with sweaty, dirty, white guys buying hot dogs and soda pop.

I am starting Law School in the fall, and as such, I need some professional attire. I have almost no money, so shopping is a bit stressful, as I try on a lot of things, and buy very little.  As I said, I am a bit of a butch. If I had my dithers, I wouldn't wear clothing specific for men or women, but that option doesn't exist, at least not within my budget.  My tastes in clothing are along the lines of Ellen DeGeneres, and of Glenn Close in the television series, Damages.  In order to get that look, I have to shop for some of my items in the men’s department. This is something I have done for the last 15 years or so, as I have gotten more comfortable in my own skin.  I have never, not once, had a problem, until recently.

One sales associate, an older African American woman, chased me across the store chanting, "Sir!" in a frantic, panicked voice.  I paid her no mind, as I didn't think she was "siring" me.  But after I got into the dressing room, and hung my items on the hook, there was a knock on the door. "Sir?"  I replied, "May I help you?" in my non sir voice, of course.  She recoiled, stating, "Oh ---- I just wanted to make sure you were in the correct dressing room. I hear that it appears you are."

In another store, a white, 30 something, female customer froze when I walked into the dressing room, obviously disturbed.  Within minutes, someone was knocking on the door asking, "I just wanted to check to see if someone is in here."  I answered, in my non sir voice again, and she walked away feeling assured that she was protecting people's rights, and that all of the social norms are going as they should.

Now, I know I'm not the only gender, non-confirming person who has been subject to this shift, because I see others going through it too. And I know that men that are not masculine enough have faced ridicule for a very long time.  And, I'm well aware that of all the marginalized folks, I am one of the last ones to become a part of this wave of ignorance that is sweeping America. People, all the way back to the 1882 Chinese Exclusion Act, have suffered great harm due to laws, ignorance, and leaders who guided the collective thought. Those who came to America who were not white, straight, and protestant, have suffered, tragically. And the slaves, OH MY GOD, the slaves...

I am merely another addition to the long list of folks "to be afraid of," and in turn, I am afraid.

With the rise in popularity of bills such as HB2, and the rise of the orange, scary, bully, Donald Trump, I am fearful of what is to become of the Country I love, which has overcome and grown so much over the last hundred years or so, albeit, slowly. Over the next 5 months, or longer if, God forbid, Trump wins -- it will all be for nothing. This growing animosity towards anyone who is not white, and a cis-male, will bring us back to a mentality of the early twentieth century—only worse—because we know better now, or should.

I hear people saying, "trust in the American people, and know Trump will not win." Trust in the American people? If only. I thought I could, until recently.

-->

OverCome

As his fleeting thoughts drifted
through the tingles of arousal,
the winds shook the trees free
of their laggard leaves.

The panes of his windows grieved
and creaked beneath the growing frost,
like a blanket of lust
obstructing the light.

October

Beneath the newly fallen night,
a baby cricket - lost in hope -
crawls inside a vacant wine bottle,
escaping, an unexpected frost.

Gibberish

In a fit of elation,
she came to wait for
a life lived,
or lived life?
Rawness and real
shared with you (and them, secretly);
a few here or there, without a feel.

(Those who came to weed,
run with the speed
of pedals ablaze).

Her smile, warped:
A packaged deal of charm
and intrigue by light,
gone dark at night.
The clock ticks on,
without a suitable mention
of her uniform at the cleaners.

Rose Colored Glasses beneath Blue Skies

Standing in the middle of the road
at noon, in June,
the light is paralyzing. Everything shines
in a glow of possibility.
The beauty is surreal, like lies
in a halo; where
love waits, always waits, beyond
the next sunrise.

Re-lay-shun Ships:

past the breakers,
beyond the let downs
and blow ups; erupting
in swirls of chaos,

of swaying hips
and pursed lips,
floating out in
a sea of noise.

Obscure

A path for hiking, hidden beneath  
briers and weeds and decaying leaves;
dry crunches of forsaken heath,
trees bending and twisting, grieves

for the sun's light to embrace the scene
in an inflamed fit of lust and greed;
an adventure of sites unseen
like words in poems she'll never read.

Escape

dark rooms with
concrete walls built high,
echoes myths;

She opens her eyes.

Altar-ation

A dimly lit lamp
in the corner solely
lighting a book of poetry
stained with tears, still damp

inside: pouring rain--
outside the window,
the wind blows
rattling the pane

in a procession--
as a roaring crowd,
beckoning loud-ly
the call of participation.

My non-poetic side

***Thinking out loud*** (yes, I'm writing, and as I read all of the back and forth banter between "sides" of this conflict or the other, my thoughts are lighting afire for my research paper) Thanks Y'all and thanks for putting up with my ramblings...  Social media is a good place to observe the inner workings of people's thoughts.  People tend to say more, unrestricted comments online than in real life.  I have been working on a semester long research paper for my peace and conflict studies senior seminar...  These are my thoughts about the conflicts that are taking center stage in America right now (i.e., Ferguson, race, religion, politics).

The thesis for my paper is that the reason humans have destructive conflicts is because of the breakdown in communication. This communication breakdown stems from our need of self-preservation, leading us to "other" (us vs them mentality). This othering creates our identity, which begins the cycle again.

When conflict arises, because of this cycle of othering, protection of self, and identity formation, we begin to create atrocity tales (it serves to further our protection of self and identities).

"The term atrocity tale serves as a justification for attacks against individuals and against even the presence of such groups in a society. An atrocity is defined as an event that is perceived as a flagrant violation of a fundamental cultural value, generally characterized by the following elements: 1) some sense of moral outrage and indignation in relation to the perceived value violation; 2) the authorization of some sort of punitive sanction; and 3) the mobilization of control efforts by the offended or injured against the apparent perpetrators.

The veracity of such tales or stories are not the issue. Instead, the major purpose of such allegations is to make the target group stand out from the ordinary providing dramatic evidence of sinister and bizarre actions. Such tales then serve both to justify the assignment of negative labels and as a warrant for extreme actions."

An illustration of my thesis (it's complicated)

Spinning

The earth spins on its axis at a rate of about 1000 mph, making a full rotation in 24 hours.
Simultaneously, the earth is orbiting around the sun at about 67,000 mph at the rate of about once every 365 days.

While this is going on, the sun is being pulled around the center of our galaxy (dragging us along for the ride) moving at a speed of 5000 mph, taking approximately 250 million years to make one cycle around.

Our entire galaxy is circling around the universe at who knows what rate of speed... AND... who knows what the entire universe is circulating around???

Meanwhile the 7 billion people on our little spec of sand in the dark known as earth are fighting over which type of human is best, which ideals are best, who deserves which part of land... and how the rich and powerful can become more rich and powerful. We will shoot you, blow you up, torture you, and make you suffer, all in the name of power. Human beings are some kind of arrogant special....

Effin get over it and let's figure this sh!t out!!!!!!!!
‪
#‎Perspective‬

Solitude

The hour before sun

rise, the furniture

rests. The house

doesn't weep but

cradles me in
its

darkness; before the light

comes. It'll

moan with desire, holding you

out there.

Apropos

The abrupt slope
at the foot of echoes
chanting, "No!"
-- halts her
galloping feat -- Just
seconds before
losing her shoes.

My Soul's Instinct

Every breath my lungs fight to take betrays my soul's instinct to find a way out; whether it be with alcohol, some varying form of dissociation, or a hard collision with a tree by the side of the road is of little importance, thankfully.  I've fought these demons before -- but I thought the birth of my son 17 years ago had saved me from ever having to fight them again. I was wrong.

It began six weeks ago or so when one sunny afternoon as I sat at my desk working on whatever project was at hand, I caught an ever brief glimpse at the horizon's slow descend into darkness.  It didn't really register within me at the time what was coming because that horizon hadn't come into view in so long. Looking back now, I should have stopped everything and walked away to take a break.  I've been saying for months that I needed to take a vacation from life and check into a hotel room for a few days and just write.  Since there aren't any hotels that allow guest to stay with only a payment of a thank you and a smile -- I was unable to take that break I instinctively knew I needed. Instead, I busied myself with more and more projects; working toward my goal of saving the world -- forgetting myself.

Within the last four weeks I have googled, "how to commit suicide and make it look like an accident" twice.  As I said earlier, luckily my soul's instinct to escape doesn't seem to matter how it escapes, so long as it escapes.  So, I make a drink involving bourbon in some fashion and put my headphones on blasting Nirvana, or Ozzy, or Seether, or anything loud and hard -- escaping, if only for a moment or two.  Sadly, with drama lurking in every corner -- the reprieve is short lived and not nearly cathartic enough. Defining the drama is unnecessary for this current piece -- drama is drama no matter what shape or form it takes that we can all identify with. When the horizon has darkened, being blindsided by an insensitive bastard's discarded gum on the sidewalk -- now on my shoe -- can feel like the end of the world. That, and I had to put my dog to sleep last week. Drama. Is. Drama. Is. Drama.

Monday, August 11, 2014 at 7:08 pm I read my first post about Robin Williams.  Within 10 minutes I somehow knew his death was not an accident.  I knew it.  I knew it with every fiber of my being because I saw me in his story.  I saw the masks he wore, though very different than my own.  My very first thought when I came to the realization of what had happened was, "how can I be expected to fight this battle when the genius Robin Williams couldn't fight it?" Selfish? Yes.  But it's what I thought -- it's where I am in my life.

This week has been difficult.  The people of the world lost in conflict and hate and chaos -- digging a hole the size of itself. There I am, standing on the side of the ever growing hole, ready to leap, but I don't. I -- in my weakened, fragile, heavy state find myself reaching into the hole to pull others out.  This is both my blessing and my curse. On a very instinctual level, I know it's something I have to do; and yet, the weight of it all is suffocating me.  Robin Williams leapt into the hole.  Will his leap pull some others out?  Will it cause others to leap with him?  Will it cause me to leap with him?

The conversation has been started, but it will fade away like everything else that is hard -- and nothing will have been resolved. How do we begin shrinking the hole, thereby reducing the amount of souls it sucks in? Why is it that I have reached the bottom of this piece without once using the words suicide or mental illness? Both words have impacted my life -- so many lives for way too long and yet, stigma is still attached to them making it laborious to even softly utter them. The Band-aid was an ingenious invention -- but we, as a whole have got to stop slapping them on a broken society and look for ways to mend and heal what is killing us... what is killing me.   My soul's instinct is to build a bridge of unity for the world -- and yet, here I am falling apart.  Ironic.  Yes. In order to help others I have to help myself, I know this... and yet... I feel lost.

Life and Stuff

Last night in a fit of tears and rage
calling out --
"If you are on my side, NOW is the time to show it."

Ready to drive
with a bottle of bourbon in one hand
the gear shift in the other.

Fast and Furious
real life drama
with a fiery crash ending, relieved.

You answered me without words;
but with something more--
falling asleep in a blanket of peace

Waking up with the taste
of You on my breath--
God is love.

#spirituality #dreams #God #suicidal

lame games

what pushing too hard looks like.  crappy poetry... reflects crappy circumstances... where life is never fair, and waiting is eternal. someday will be one day -- if even in a hundred years.  I'll wait. I'll wait because there is nothing else to do. I'll wait for time to catch up with love ... .... ......

a beautiful picture of her

she shared in a click--

in a click, like a bic lighter

my heart fell, on fire.

grateful for flickr

making a few clicks of my own,

wiping out my wipe out, 

when my heart fell, on fire 

    

                                           . . .

Occupation

Her big girl panties heaved
out the window,
twirling her dress: spinning heads
          as she passes
          flashing smiles.
The chess board
collecting dust
in the corner of her room.

Weeds