An Empath? An Introvert?

I wrote this almost a year ago. This is for all those of us who feel way too much and struggle to be ok because of it.

Where do I begin?

in Capitalism?

in our Reality?

in my Dreamworld?

The vibrations all around

Struggle to block out.

A sponge absorbs all day

in Reality

Only to be wrung out, sometimes cruelly

in Dreams

I feel it all …

Emotions gnawing like

tiny gnats

and vicious wolves.

Emotions pile up, a tower of

tumbling woodblock pieces

To be alone, in the forest

on the beach, lost among fire and water.

Away from cities, concrete, and cars.

Is this a joke?

Our humanity?


my strength

this poem is about the strength (and beauty) of our bodies, in contrast to how Western culture may view our bodies. especially for femme bodies it is important to recognize what is often taken away – our autonomy and self-determination. for all the femmes, especially those that struggle with body image and dysphoria. 

thighs sprout

strong tree trunks

muscles buried within 

my clay sandy skin

my Strength

misogyny leaves an ugly mark

on my body

misogyny is countered by

my Strength

a danger to expose my body

because my body will expose

my Strength

cis hetero men stare

they don’t see

my Strength

but I do. 

i will open wide

my Strength

and squeeze tight 

squeeze the life from

cis hetero patriarchy with

my Strength

a funeral

The following was written in memory of a persyn who was (one of the hundreds) murdered by the police earlier this year. The institutions of policing and prisons in Amerika is part of the (neo)liberal political agenda of capitalism and democracy. Their systemic killing and harming of black, brown, indigenous folx is part of that agenda. These institutions need to be abolished if we want to live in a world deserving of this earth.

a persyn, a spirit

constructed after death

through those around

through those that loved

through those whose hearts will never heal


a loved one,

taken away too quickly

too brutally by police forces

is that the life of those oppressed?

those whose skin and ancestry are marked

through slavery by settlers of Amerika?

How much has changed when

black communities still mourn?


preachers with words they think are

wisdom, push old and tired

ways of thinking

“black on black crime”

but what about mass incarceration?

what about police violence dispensed disproportionately on black bodies?


western schooling will never give you

the soul you need to survive

with a war that rages nobody

wants to be lectured by

old stereotypes


Liberation will never be

found within white walls

and colonized colors of respectability.

Don’t believe the myths.

Don’t fall for easy answers.


We  will honor the dead

with our fight

We will honor the dead

with rejection of the systems

We will honor the dead

by never conforming to the rules

of the living

rent is due

it’s the first of the month. it’s day when we’ve gotta fucking pay to have a roof and rooms. it’s also the day i get paid… so here’s a poem in dedication of being anti-money:

Mistakes are made,

of which i blame

those dead presidents

found on those floating pieces

of dead paper.

Money is a drug.

Money is a poison.

Money is an addiction.

Dead presidents to trap you

find you, to blame you for your mistakes.

And then don’t listen to your screams.

my redefinition of love

here’s one i wrote this month about love. i have very different definitions of things than most people. sometimes i feel like trying to communicate with people is impossible because i’d have to explain all my differences before we could even begin. i believe in love but not love defined through the system of patriarchy and white supremacy.

Love is not romance.

Love is not flowers, or dinners

or dates.

Romance is constructed through layers of

patriarchy mixed with western notions

of [preferably white] companionship.

Love is wanting to change the world

not through ideas of peace, but through strength and steel.

Love is reaching inside yourself

to peel away layers which are not yours,

but were given to you

soaked in hundreds of years of oppressive behaviors.

Love is never candies or chocolate

or holding hands in a movie theater.

Love is always the search for revolution;

the search for armed resistance.

Love is when we will be able to stand together

against forces much bigger than us

but we will win, not just through love

but because we will have realized through love

what we need to win.

Love will never be romantic.

Love will always be us together against the state.

farce of july

I wrote this for the fourth of July holiday which marks a symbolic beginning of the amerikkkan empire. thought it was appropriate as we “celebrate”the election of another white supremacist dictator. 

explosions, fire

car alarms blaring

almost reminds me of

Oakland on jan 22nd

when police threw

tear gas, and flash bombs. 

but today people


celebrate the day of

institutionalized colonialism, 

the beginning of Empire, 

legitimization of genocide/slavery.

people want to deny, 

want to believe

in the beautiful patterns

and colors in the sky

and some just want to play

with explosives. 

I say we aim those at

the state

turn this all around… 

explosions, fire

against Empire

rhythms of the moon

hi y’all sorry it’s been a few days. too many extrovert days need to be followed by hibernation and sleep.

here’s on I wrote on a camping trip in July as the sun rose. since I was young the rhythms of the moon have always tugged at me..

the moon pulls at me

with its rhythmic heartbeat

resonated in the sounds of

the ocean waves

The sun emerges

as the moon stretches across

the sky

rises to greet a new day

The wind joins the sun

and together they whistle

a new reality

as the waves beat against

the sand

It is within the heartbeat

I find hope

hope the new reality

will shed old oppression

and find new revolution