I wrote this a few months ago when I was feeling a lot of sadness. It’s interesting to edit this piece, when in a different frame of mind. Feelings are temporary, and I’m sure I’ll taste sadness sometime soon. Unfortunately sorrow, sadness, and any emotions perceived as negative are shamed. They shouldn’t be, they are all part of what it means to feel, to be alive, to be connected to this world. This poem is a celebration and a reminder of what sorrow can feel like. It’s okay to be too sad to do anything, sometimes. We live in a world that is filled with it after all, and there are times I want to fight it, but there are times when I just allow the sadness to swallow me. Those choices are all okay.
Ah. I really need to be more disciplined and post more consistently. But so is life. Here is one I re-wrote from about a year ago. Changed my format up a little bit also!
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
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
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
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,
What happened to the Beauty?
White settlers destroyed it all.
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 our Reality?
in my Dreamworld?
The vibrations all around
Struggle to block out.
A sponge absorbs all day
Only to be wrung out, sometimes cruelly
I feel it all …
Emotions gnawing like
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?