Don’t Talk to Pigs

Remember please inside these walls Don't talk to pigs, no words to swine In this home - here - on stolen land, We loathe the cop

Poem as radical wall art for your home!

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Red Rivers

Behold, Amerikkka, for I am your unwilling settler, I arrived here terrified With my white mother, I was only eight years LA bec

In the midst of the DACA repeal, and once again the DACA debates, I want to step back a little to remember European colonization and how they created borders to control the world. Re-frame the debate away from good citizen vs. bad non-citizen., away from legislation, away from politicians… this country is rotten from the inside out. How do we find true liberation for ourselves and all those oppressed? Not just words on a piece of paper one president can declare law and another one can simply take away. I remember many of these same debates raged before the Dream Act was enacted. Yet any victories won now seem temporary, and will  divide communities along the lines of citizen and non-citizen (similar to how amnesty programs of the 80s allowed some to gain access to citizenship but not others). Ultimately to escape these cycles, we need to think beyond reform.

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.