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.

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.

Missing

when love speaks
to my heart,
it must be traveling
without a DAMN
map, cause
it gets lost
in the translation…

A Place

What happens when we live in a place that is not ours?
Living in a place without a voice or an affect, or a place to be, okay.
A place where everyone else is right, and you are wrong.  A place where, 'a place to belong' is nonexistent; where your thoughts, ideas, and things are considered to be in the way of everyone elses way.
Living in a place of connection that no one else feels.
A place where everyone else is always screaming, "LOVE ME! HEAR ME! I AM IMPORTANT TOO!"  And yet... you are just an other, an other whom is unworthy and taking up their place and is never loving, or hearing, or seeing them.
A place where there is always an us and a them, and nothing in between.
A place to cry for loneliness and overwhelmingness, concurrently.
A place where this is the human existence, and yet... no one else has a fucking clue that everyone else feels the same way.

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)

Cant

alone, watching
people sit in their
comfy chairs
sipping their joy
from a cup;
when I notice
no one cares
to watch me.

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.

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.

About Time

Hands in lap, as they should be
watching you talk to me
posture of fear drapes your shoulders
heavy like boulders;

waiting for my gavel to drop
not quite knowing the type of crop
my garden grows, but please know
a pedestal I will never tow.

Against the resistance
at my persistence
giving me a half smile, chin down
eyes full of questions, answered on some dawn.

Thinking of time, eyes locked
on some distant rhyme knocked
out just for you, hoping it will
be me, with my lips being sealed.

A bolt flashes through me
screaming, "MAKE YOUR MOVE DUMMY!"
thinking better of it, I move as if the clock
read yesterday when destiny made me flock
To You, in the first place.

In Time

Rituals of days passed, only mask
each day to the next, the taste
swallowed with the bitterness mellowed
for weeks in a routine seeking madness...

Until you walked through my door.

Reflections

Today at dawn
I saw an old friend

who was even more beautiful
than I remembered--

I should have looked in the mirror
long before now.

Feed

a pint or two of stout
just to ease my pout--

a pint of ice cream before bed,
sweet dreams to settle my head

But hunger pains gnaw.

fast food drive-thru after midnight--
dreams of you shatter my might

throwing my belt on the highway
my pants are screaming, "may day!"

The hunger pains still gnaw.

one and a half dozen cupcakes
in the oven, set on bake

hot chicken wings sizzle in the fryer
new pants, a size up in the dryer

Still, the hunger pains gnaw.

now a heart knows a thing or two
about gnawing pain of rue--

it is swift and sly
makin' up lies

That hunger pains need to be fed.

Moon Lighting

The umbrella rests by the back door--
the distant storm races
   mocking the forgetful woman
rushing to her lovers embrace.

BeFall

The naked trees watch
the saturating rain

fall from dark skies
before dawn breaks.

Deep moisture rising
into puddles to be splashed

before evaporating
in the afternoon sun.

Delusions

out of the shower
in the closet

my row of shirts
sorted by color

What is Integrity?

For my PPS scholars class, I am being asked to write a script for a podcast defining integrity. Does this work?

Integrity in the Face of a Storm

Here in the Triad of North Carolina, our strongest storms blow in from the northwest. Strong cool winds shove the sticky hot air to the coast in a violent fury. The integrity of most structures stay intact, storm after storm, year after year. What makes some structures stand strong while others cave under the pressure? Having integrity means standing strong, even in the face of a storm aiming to corrupt everything in its path.

There is a quote that says everything I believe about integrity. It says, “Live in such a way that if anyone ever spoke badly about you, no one would believe it.” I have modeled my life after this quote. A few years ago I met a group of people that I thought shared a similar belief system as I do—but I quickly realized I was naïve and that this group of people quickly went into jealousy and gossip. When others tried to lure me into the gossip fury, spreading lies about others, I stood strong in the storm—my integrity stayed intact. Some followed my example and stopped gossiping, while others succumbed to the storm and their integrity faltered. To live with integrity means not buckling under the pressure of even a violent haboob. Sometimes to keep our integrity intact, we need to be flexible like a tall, strong tree in the midst of a storm. Trees bend and move with the storm, not against it—giving it resiliency against the storm.

Keeping our integrity is not always easy. The temptation to be dishonest or to take advantage of a person or a situation can be strong, especially when we are hurting or not getting our needs met. It is in this moment that we must stand strong in our convictions and with our feet firmly rooted—eventually, the storm will calm and we will be even stronger to weather the next storm, year after year!

A Thing or Two

tomorrow at dusk
I won't be your wife because
playing is more fun
than doing dirty laundry

‪#‎Haiku‬ ‪#‎Tanka‬ ‪#‎Poetry‬ ‪#‎MicroPoetry‬

An Open Letter

Dear Unknown,

I've been thinking about you a lot lately. With each passing day, my love for you grows stronger and deeper, but I wish you would come around more often so we could get better acquainted. We have a great life ahead, you and me --I just know it!