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.

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.

Tears

Poem I wrote to express my frustrations and rage at the Amerikan capitalist system. It’s hard to exist somewhere you will never fit in.

Wake up with tears.

They are coated inside my

lungs and heart.

Locked in a scream

towards revolt.

How many must die at the claws of

oppressions?

Claws tear at our skin,

tear at your bodies,

tear at our souls.

We are made indispensible.

Amerikkka is

genocide, is

slavery, is

murder, is

death. This is the

land of

broken limbs,

bleeding hearts,

blown-in lungs.

Revolt catches

my lips, waits for the rest.

When will I wake up with tears

for the revolution?

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.

in war

hi y’all it’s been a few days.. here’s one i wrote back in July but I thought it was relevant today as the war at standing rock rages on. this is for all the folx who are up there.. y’all are winning.

the war in Amerikkka

unfolds

unfurls

undulates

the war in Amerikkka

is here

is ongoing

is violent

the war in Amerikkka

waged by armed police officers

dressed in riot gear

supported by white people and the white washed

the war in Amerikkka

will be won by those in the streets, fists high

no justice, no peace

anywhere until liberation