uncertainty
in what to write
in what to do
at any given moment
day
or night
the uncertainty
is what freezes me
not potential good
or bad outcomes
but all the options
showing themselves to me
beat
by beat
by beat
until
the overwhelm becomes too much
that inaction is the safest path to take
[but it actually
never really
is]
an educated populace
is a dangerous populace
to the folks in charge
who gain
with everyone else’s
losses
i’m just writing words
and the minute i move on
to the next line, the words above
seem to fade from my mind
immediately
i wonder if this is going to be
simply the state of
today
we chanted
and marched
and demanded
and yelled
and one white man was released
but what about all the others?
FREE THEM ALL
create
creativity
and let it all flow out of me
until a time when we can all be
free
free
free
so interesting how
being in one’s 30’s feels
like settling into the person you
were before testing out all the other life things
i’m hungry for experiences
but i need only try something
once
and then i’m happy to go back
and just cuddle my kip and my cat and my dog
and organize books alphabetically
and wake up each morning
to write poetry
[i do wonder if this is the true 9-year-old me, but i also have to admit,
i still have that 9-year-old inside me, plus the 16-year-old who couldn’t
help but immediately drive to see friends the moment they got their
license, and the 22-year-old who just really wanted connection with
whomever would connect with me. i think it’s always been, not about
partying, but about connection. and i also think 9-year-old me
would agree.]
i scroll
and scroll
and scroll and scroll and scroll
and avoid looking at messages
because my soul aches with each plea
and i haven’t figured out yet
how to do
anything
really
the congratulations
about speaking up
against racist microaggressions
is not “you did it, what a good ally you are!”
it’s “you said more than you would have in the past,
and the world didn’t end
and you didn’t get in a shouting match
nor were you physically assaulted,
so maybe, next time, you can say two things”
because
the bad feelings after the interaction
were not “you said something, and something went wrong”
it’s “you regret not saying more”
and perhaps, after that, you now have the tools
to say more
in the future
[and for any white folks out there
looking to get “dreads”,
just know that locs or dreadlocks are the actual terms
and they are not a hairstyle for you.
period.]
friday the thirteenth
fridays the thirteenth
friday the thirteenths
fridays the thirteenths
any way you say it
we’re married because of it
[and i’m so happy with it,
even after all these years]
how can there be
so much horror in the world
alongside such beauty?
how can death happen one day
and the next, the miracle of a whole new life?
how can those celebrating a graduation/
a union/
pure friendship
be next door to
domestic violent terror
in one’s own home?
i haven’t figured out yet
how to be a happy person
while also knowing
so much that happens behind
tightly closed doors
in front of
tightly shut eyes
because, from my position here,
it feels counterintuitive —
i’m trapped in feeling like
one thing cannot be acknowledged
if the other isn’t also
but perhaps that’s my own black and white
fault
thinking
because there’s also
often
mundane day happening
alongside mundane day
and it’s the grey that
somehow
sometimes
keeps us going
kipventures 