Cycling

I haven’t posted a poem up in awhile, but the last few months have been difficult as I’ve transitioned to a new place to live. Much better and happier now. Here’s a poem I wrote almost a year ago, and threw in a few edits today. I cycle all the time; it’s my main mode of transportation, and it’s an amazing one, so here’s one to my days on the road!

The thrill of speed

My agility, my virility

My bike and I

As cars rush by

So close, I can feel the heat

Metals beasts of death

But the thrill as

My body, my core

Flares with galore

A fiery blaze as I maneuver through

Metal beasts of death

To the Femmes

I wrote this today in honor of the feminine spirit of International Womxn’s Day. I don’t identify with the category of woman, but I do acknowledge and honor the feminine spirit which lives within me. A spirit which I think lives within everyone, but in different shapes and forms.

We who embody the feminine;

We, the femmes.

It is our day to rage, to be angry.

Because our transsisters still speak and meet

To protest the slow genocide.

Of the Femme spirit.

 

We are not equals.

We are all different.

But inside of us no matter what the state says

Lives and breathes. A dragon.

With purple scales.

Femme spirits, Femecestors

It is in our blood.

 

Rage today.

Rage everyday.

Rage until the femme spirit breathes fire

to destroy the world.

no one, but me

This poem is about not wanting people to define or label me because of the clothes I chose to wear. My body is mine to dress as I want, and how I choose to dress it should not make others choose to judge me or make assumptions.

Thin blue dress

patterned with vivacious horses

slides over red gym shorts

and a black & white bra

slides over a bike seat

as heat swelters, sweat trickles

“Oh you look so nice”

first comment of the day

I don’t usually wear femme; are you surprised?

Now that I fit your stereotype, am I more acceptable?

“Who are you trying to impress?”

No one, but me

My body is not for you

Horses gallop over

black & white bra

eyes slide toward my body

as my body slides on my bike

red shorts glisten, wind caresses my thighs

as  I slide through the air

My body is mine

I dress it for me to be me

It does not define me, or my gender identity

I dress it to slide through the air

Words

I’ve had a busy month, no time to post. But I’m back again with a poem about the power of words. Words will not be enough but no one thing will ever be. It’s all connected: our struggles, our liberation, and our future.

What are words?

In the poetics of

Theory?

How do I fight

with the only weapon I know.

Words strung across

Crossbows.

Fires brim at the

Fingertips

turns into arrows

to light a path

towards heavy explosions

shake my body

souls tremble

feels like liberation spilling

through my veins

through words.

What are words?

In the theory of

Poetics?

They march…

I wrote this a few days ago, in the feels about the different marches that were happening at Trump’s inauguration. I’ve been to a lot of marches, and for those whose first time it was a few days ago, I understand the exhilaration and the empowerment. There is something very powerful about being one of thousands in the street. But that’s not enough. It’s an experience, but at the end of the day it erases the systemic struggles which have existed for centuries. Trump’s presidency is not the beginning of fascism, we cannot make Amerika great again, and kops are not our friends. For those who were on the marches, I just ask that you think deeply about your participation, understand your privilege, be open to critique. I only hope we are moving forward into rebellion. Here’s the poem:

They march to win the hearts + minds

They march for that oppression

which will be gentle and kind

They march so the pigs will place

pink and furry handcuffs on their wrists

They march to fill the pockets of

non-profits’ CEOs

board of directors

and bureaucrats

They march to take selfies to post on Facebook or Snapchat

They march so celebrities can smile for their photo-ops

They march to cover up their daily micro-aggressions

anti-blackness + transmisogyny

They march to tell their future dead children

they tried but then failed

They march to snitch on those who take

alternate routes

They march to shame and exclude those who suffer the most

They march because this is a democracy and they have the freedom of assembly

But they never pause to ask for whom?

They march not knowing the history and past struggles

They march blind into police kettles

They march + march + march…

Except there are no hearts + minds to win

There are only buildings, freeways and institutions

to burn

Our rebellion grows

from the streets of Oakland, Seattle, DC, New York

and sometimes LA

Our struggle continues.

It did not begin nor will it end in Trump

How many drones did Obama authorize?

How many people deported under his administration?

How many black bodies died at the guns of police?

It began in the 15th century

with genocide and slavery

These marches of the 21st century rest on a resistance movement

They try to forget or never remember

Permits, peace, and police

We are standing up against a violent Empire

Six centuries in the making

We must march to blockade

capitalism is violence on this land

We must march to smash B of A windows

their property is violence on this land

We must march to fight fascists and fascism

white supremacy is violence on this land

Their hearts + minds won’t change

But our hearts + minds are here

and have been.

Earth is Beauty

I wrote this on a train that wove through the northern part of the Los Angeles Forest.

Greys and Browns

Orange and Faded Green

Small trees, low shrubs

and silver rocky hills.

I see Beauty stretch for miles,

but all the greedy capitalists want

is blood and organs

to sell for profit.

All they see is dollar signs

development, mining

and oil.

As the Greys and Browns of

trees and plants fade into

identical track houses and what

they call Civilization (and I call Destruction and Death).

Manufactured and installed trees,

paved streets

and commerce.

What happened to the Beauty?

White settlers destroyed it all.