i wrote a snarky poem
for Trans Week of Awareness
telling y’all to be aware of me:
my gender, chaotic
my joy, revolutionary.
and still i talked about our siblings who are silenced
through legislation
through societal constraints
through direct, abhorrent violence–
but for an act so violent
to be what wakes me up
on Trans Day of Remembrance…
it just feels too
too
too too
much
i have no conclusion to this poem
Stop
Killing
Us.
i’ve been unintentionally rhyming
for a little while now
and i don’t know
how
i feel about it.
~~~
more words
more feelings
more emotions
more muck
to get out of my system
and out of my brain
to stream through the eyes/fingertips
onto a screen
where words seem so foreign
when writing from the heart
but here i am
here i go
here i
start
~~~
i’ve got good stuff
lately
and again
i don’t know how
i feel about
it
i wonder
how people
read my ramblings
do they wonder
about my inside jokes
like puppy jail
and global panini
do they put things together
via contextual clues
or do they simply skim
until the words
make sense
again
poor injured puppy
(i didn’t even know dogs could get
ACL tears)
(i mean, that’s not technically the diagnosis
but that’s essentially what it is
when compared with
human injuries)
and it’s common
and it’s [most likely] not going to need surgery
(knock on wood)
but
it’s so tough seeing puppies in pain
and it’s so tough when we just had our old dog
do so many procedures and things
and we just want our puppy to be able to
have the zoomies
run around
be a puppy
but
she is stuck
in puppy jail
for her own
good
my poor
sick
dogs
(one our actual puppy
limping, limping for days
no weight on the back right foot
except when she decides she’d rather balance
than feel pain)
(the other my spouse
dog-like and loving-dogs
recovered from covid just to worry themselves
into a migraine
over our sick
sick
puppy)
first day
back in the world
since coming down with the ‘rona
still got this crazy cough
still a little more exhausted than not
still gonna mask on way more than mask off
but
i got so excited about the prospect yesterday
of testing negative and getting to work and see people today
i suppose i just gotta do it
(and trust that yesterday’s excitement
was the sign i took it to be
that i’m
ready)
how do you
become at peace
with the fact
that you will never be doing enough?
i don’t know
but i think
that’s how to approach
anti-racism
anti-white-supremacy
anti-any-hate
in a sustainable way
(because otherwise
the sides of the coin
are performative
or overwhelmed catatonia
and neither
actually provide
results
or action)
~~~
there really is a comfort
to having a canine
use your leg
as a pillow
to prop up
their heavy heavy chin
~~~
when i pet my pets
the studies run through my head
of how this act helps the serotonin levels
in humans’ (and dogs’) brains
but i know my serotonin
or the transmitters that run it along
aren’t working at their full strength
so i often think to myself
“ok, here we go, serotonin, you can do it!!!”
just to help it
a bit
sometimes we need
store-bought chemicals
and sometimes we need
our own cheering squad
and sometimes we need
both
and that shouldn’t be looked down upon
late night writing
(not that late)
(is it even night?)
(damn daylight savings)
(at least i am writing)
~~~
what if
i let myself
really
trust
in the universe
and let
the rest
go?
~~~
there is an adage
in auditioning
in acting in general
to ‘find the love’
in any scene
if it seems
about money
or revenge
or procedure
or humor
or anything
or nothing
something
to make it
more interesting
more alive
find
the love
in life
in living
in the universe
find
the love
the not so great part
of having a solid plan
of combining your Morning Experimentations
into
a National Novel Writing Month Experiment
is that
once you combine the collective trauma
of living through a global pandemic
(and the subsequent failures of government and humanity)
with the fact that you wrote every morning
your pain and hopes and losses thereof
and with
the emotional toll of writing poetry
which you do
every morning now
is that
now
you don’t necessarily want to write
your Morning
Poetry
(because you have just
catharted
all over the computer screen
about a situation
we are still
very much
in)
i just
want to do
something
with my hands
embroidery
or sewing
beading
or cross-stitch
i’d try crochet
or knotting up friendship bracelets
at this point i’d give wire jewelry-making a go
but my brain
when i sit down
with supplies
and a project in mind
it gives no explanation
but simply says
no
so my hands fidget
and my body holds in the pressure
of anxiety about to explode
but my depression-ridden brain
becomes its own worst enemy
it laughs in the face of my wants and desires
and it only
ever says
no
no
no
no
no
kipventures 