Month: March 2022

March 31, 2022

/ HJ / 1 Comment

Trans Day of Visibility.

i try to be so visible…

but my visibility often seems to negate my living experiences

(any time i wear the trans colors
i’m read as
only femme)

(and while i feel
not
the gender i was assigned at birth,
my taste often finds itself
aligning
with what my assigned gender
is ‘supposed to’ like)

(but i’m not just gay
as in happy
[though often i have this
demeanor]
i’m also queer
as in fuck the system,
as in i will always stand up for those with less power,
as in my entire identity will always be a political statement
because much of it is often politicized without my consent,
and i know of others with intersecting identities
on top of the identity[ies] we share
who will never be out of the line of fire from politicians
trying to gain power
over others)

so i’ll stand up
tall
(as my barely over five-foot-frame will let me)
and proud
of my trans identity,
my non-binary identity,
my queer-in-all-the-ways identity,
and tell everyone who will listen
‘yes, thank you for listening
to me,
an actual trans person,
but please
also listen
to those who fall under the binary umbrella
underneath the larger trans umbrella,
especially trans women,
and listen to those who fall under other marginalized identities,
listen to Black trans folks,
listen to Indigenous trans folks [Indigenous two-spirit people],
listen to trans people of color
listen to those folks of color with darker skin,
listen to trans people with disabilities
listen to trans people who aren’t neurotypical
listen to trans people who aren’t from your country,
listen to trans people who don’t look anything like you,
listen to trans folks who make you feel uncomfortable with your privilege
listen to trans folks who fight the system that was built to tear them down.

and honestly,
if you listen to those folks first
(which i encourage you to do)
and you have a lot of introspection to do
and you don’t have the time
or energy
or capacity
to listen to my words
afterwards,

i’d much prefer that.

listen to trans folks with less privilege than myself
expand your knowledge
first.

(maybe we’ll see each other in the metaphorical
‘audience’
and wave ‘hi!’)

March 29, 2022

/ HJ / Leave a comment

yesterday was a
good(?!?)
day

chores accomplished
things done
(ahead of time even)
friends talked to
(friends!
what a concept!)

and i hope
that this energy
positivity
whatever-y
lasts
just a few days longer

because man, i have so many things on my to-do list
that are just waiting for a day
when i feel like i have the mental stamina
to do them.

~~~

toaster strudels
toasted
iced
eaten

bagels
ordered
made
still waiting
for delivery
(to house and to mouth)

do we need two different breakfasts this morning?
absolutely not.
but do we deserve them?
i’d say…
maybe?

~~~

being an actor is so weird
because not only are we
sharing intimate parts of
our selves/emotions/brains/pasts
and saying ‘hey, do you believe this
in a totally different context?’
we are also airing all our dirty laundry
out
for others’ entertainment
and hoping it’s cathartic
to both audience and us
(while still holding a piece
within our toolbox
just in case
we need it
again)

all the while,
those of us who have gone to school
for this
weirdness
have literally been graded
on things that
can be quite subjective
and we all just kind of had to
admit it
and accept it
and be graded
on our souls
(while being so young
we probably weren’t even connected
with the fullness
of those souls
quite yet)

(i know i, now, ten years later,
could still be more connected,
for my self and for my art.)

March 28, 2022

/ HJ / Leave a comment

i really don’t know what i’m doing.
my only post-secondary education
in poetry
was over a decade ago
and i can’t really remember
anything i learned
(granted, that’s probably from
all the trauma/trauma responses
i was experiencing
at the time),
but i digress…

i feel like my skills
with words
would improve
if i could just
Remember
those words.
i often know exactly what i want to say,
and that there is a word
that’s perfect,
but i can’t for the life of me
remember it.
or i know what to say
and i also suspect
there’s an even better word
that would fit the scheme/
rhyme/alliteration/pattern
better than what i have down already
and the harder i try to think
the better i understand
all those analogies
of holding sand
in tightly grasped hands
the desperation
erases
all sense of
every word
i’ve ever known.

so that’s why my poetry
is a little
imperfectionistic,
a little
‘flying by the seat of my pants’,
a little
self-aware/meta/laughing at my own poems,
because otherwise
the grasp would be even tighter
and the only remaining
grain
of sand
would be that of my name

(and even that
i don’t always remember
right away)

March 27, 2022

/ HJ / Leave a comment

dealing with
A Thing™

emotions crashing against my walls
like tidal waves
tsunamis
of bitterness
resentment
betrayal
confusion
trust issues at it once more

and i just want to act
to do my best with my art
and i hope i can feel my ocean
while still remaining true to myself
and my scene partner
and the scene we’ve put together

but what happens
when you always come back
to feeling
just
a little bit
abandoned?

March 26, 2022

/ HJ / Leave a comment

interestingly,
i think a lot of poetry
that takes itself seriously
is the poetry
that
takes days
maybe even weeks
(months? years?)
to write;;
and i enjoy my
fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants/
reference-my-own-writing/and/
my-strengths-and-weaknesses/
make-jokes-at-my-own-expense/
a-little-bit-meta/
poetry-writing.

and i think part of the reason it works
is because i’m churning out
poem
after poem
day
after day
and if i were to
ponder every syllable
and say something
as if i weren’t just a human
typing some words on a computer,
there wouldn’t be that kind of levity
[or brevity]

//long ago
poetry was an art
with all kinds of rules and regulations,
but i get bored and frustrated
playing inside of boxes,
so this time-period
when all rules of poetry
are being re-hashed
and it’s far more about
how a poem makes you feel
than anything else,
this is my time to shine
[and my time is mine]
//

March 24, 2022

/ HJ / Leave a comment

the dog hasn’t been eating much
and though it might be
old age/
picky taste/
boredom/
sensitive teeths
it could also mean she’s
depressed

(which,
like,
we can barely keep our own depressions
from swallowing us whole,
how can we care for
another being’s mind-demons???)

but
i digress

if Louka is depressed
i’ve decided to do my best
to make her just a little bit
happier

so yesterday
we went on a long, long walk.

i let her lead the way,
and barring standing in the middle of the road,
she was our guide.

through the meandering side-streets
of the north bronx
we were intrigued by smells off of a sports field,
scared off by loud subway sounds,
befriended by a neighbor-acquaintance
(and Louka received many treats
for her good ‘sits’ and ‘high-fives’),
and after we’d walked with them for a bit
we bid adieu
to explore a new street,
a new space,
we’d never been before–

and suddenly
in the midst of a mostly barren
chain-link fenced-in yard
stood a small, plastic bull
at attention
ready to fight

and Louka was ready as well

she sniffed
and stared
and stood her ground
until

a play bow!

a small, playful growl!

a fully formed play bark!

her tail wagged a staggering pace,
her hops and leaps and bounds
unbounded by her
skinny, old-dog frame

as she desperately tried to coax this
non-dog,
non-living,
little plastic bull
to play with her
(a dog who never plays,
not with toys,
or humans,
or even other dogs
unless forced to,
and even then…)

and i watched,
delighted,
damn near crying
because she’s been so sad
so lonely
so tired
so much less energetic
over the last few weeks/months/years

and i saw there a full puppy
happy dog tail
happy dog bounce
happy dog
play

acting like a puppy

(and on National Puppy Day!!!)

so maybe there is hope
and help
for our dog’s depression

and maybe
just maybe
that means the humans’ depressions in this house
might be lessened
just a bit
too.

March 23, 2022

/ HJ / Leave a comment

working from what is best
best for me
best for my brain…

there are dozens (hundreds?) of poems
that never got to see the page of day
the poetry blog where all these have run off to
and some of them, yes, they are simply me
trying to wake myself up
vibe myself into the rest of the day
figure out what in the heck
my brain
is even doing
at any given moment

but some are
objectively
*good*
they just didn’t fit with the other poems for that day
or they’re too personal
and i just
cannot
i can’t have that out in the world
at least not on the inter-webs.

it’s like
i’m still that open book
with pages ripped out
and stuffed in my back pockets
or otherwise eaten
digested
you’ll never see them

(and it still surprises
even me
what things i’m willing to be so open about
and what i’m not,
and i think it has a little bit to do with what’s still affecting me
hardcore
and what makes sense to affect me
this hard
this long;
and
yeah
that’s all

[i was going to give examples
but like i said
already digested])

~~~

the blank toe tag
waves in the
non-existent breeze
hanging off of our
plastic skeleton
(named Barnaby)
and i know that there probably is a breeze
it’s probably the hot air from the radiator
just beneath
but still
i like to imagine
ghosts
messing with our deathly decoration aesthetics
as if to say
‘it’s/we’re
closer than you think!’

~~~

i feel like i could turn that first poem
into something more,
something bigger,
literally
solely
from that last stanza
there is a pace and flow and rhyme and feel
that gives slam poetry
that gives life to the creative in me
that gives me reason to keep going
to keep flowing
to maybe not post that today
but to perfect it
and bring it back
(or
who says i need to refrain from posting
in order to play?)

(fuck it, let’s post all three)

March 22, 2022

/ HJ / Leave a comment

capture
the way
poetry
made you feel;
say
the phrases
only you
could come up with
within your big [fat] brain
(we all thought that was hilarious
way back in grade three:
‘you have lots of fat in your head,
if someone calls you a fat-head
say “thanks, it’s true!”’
so thanks, Bill Nye,
for giving us both an insult
and rebuttal
in one educational episode)

but the words
and flows
don’t flow
the way they ought
they used
to
they should
too
be calling from my mind
climbing
clambering
to come out
like i once came out
no, wait,
twice
came out
first from the closet
then from the binary
and finally,
maybe someday,
i’ll just come out from expectations set upon me
through old traditions
and new
and if i only knew
how to come out from under my own
oppressive
thumb
how free could i be?

but
the feral cat is still meowling
somewhere
outside
and the music is making
both myself
and my spouse
subtlety sway side to side
and the coffee hasn’t entered my system
fully
quite yet
and i wish there was a way
to have a style
without
reusing the same tired
words
phrases
that i use
every day
in every poem
in every way they come to me
(but i suppose that might be
because
humans
and humanity
and only having a certain capacity
and phases actually being a thing
that happens
it’s just, sexuality/gender is not usually one of them
(but sometimes they are, that doesn’t make them
less legitimate
and real)
(and, as a cis human, isn’t your gender ever-phasing
ever-changing
too?
is what you thought as the most important part
of being a boy/man
the same as it was when you were 7?
15?
20?
40?
70?)

all of life is moments
phases
fading in and out

let’s just acknowledge
pay attention
and enjoy the ride.)