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

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

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.

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?