i’ve been writing
for
450 days
writing poetry
every morning
for
450 days
and this is still my
wake-up
this is still my
focus-time
this is still my
resistance
you know?
~~~
itching for adventure
one coming up soon
not soon enough?
~~~
the plan
is planned
for today
stick to it?
i may…
i’ll never think flags
are dumb
again.
while there are flags for every
little
sexuality
gender
identity
feeling
fandom
these days
(even the different states in america have their own flag!
and cities!!
it’s getting ridiculous, guys…)
and the ‘meanings’ behind the colored stripes
i often find
a little forced
but
i know of multiple
*multiple*
people
(some i knew personally,
some i only heard their story from their mouth
over a little known
‘clock app’)
who, being non-binary, never felt ‘trans enough’
‘yes’ they’d think to themselves,
‘trans means someone who does not identify
as the gender they were assigned
at birth,
but i’ve had no transition
social/
hormonal/
surgical/
how does that really imply
*trans*-gender?’
and then they’d learn that the white stripe in the middle
of the trans pride flag
is for non-binary folks specifically.
‘i see myself in the trans flag’ their faces of delighted surprise seemed to say
‘i am trans enough—
i mean, i’m part of the damn flag!’
and i recently learned about the disability pride flag
(it had a re-design so those with sight sensitivities
could scroll and not be assaulted by the
zig-zag making strobe effects on their screens)
and i’ve been trying to do more research into the disability community,
one i admired from afar,
and read about,
and wondered if any of my strange nerve pains are
an invisible illness sneaking up on me,
or if my glasses are enough of a mobility aid to think of them as such,
or, still, if my depression/anxiety interrupt my day-to-day
in this world built for neurotypicals
to even imagine them as disabilities.
but in learning about the disability pride flag
and what those colors mean
and that blue stripe
right there
calls out mental illness—
very
obviously
states
that mental illness
is part
of the disability
community
and i have never breathed such a loaded sigh
of relief
of pride
of protection
of fear
of the weight of what it means
to be disabled in a culture
that would rather pretend a global pandemic
is over
than admit that disabled people
are bearing the brunt
of the deaths and tragedies from it
so
even though
i take on most of my mental illness
in isolation
(except for some poems
here and there
in this here daily poetry blog)
i’m starting to think of myself
as one who has community
rather than one
without
welcome,
those of you who have decided
against
celebrating the us’s birthday,
glad you’ve arrived!
not to say i’ve been here that long;
i always kind of half-heartedly enjoyed
the fireworks
the cookouts
the bonfires
because
they were fun
but i never felt that loved by this country
(even after ‘marriage equality’ was bestowed upon me);
my last ‘official’ july 4th was
2019.
in 2020 i listened as
people who don’t look like me
confronted july 4th
and taught me what
holding a country accountable
could look like
in 2021 i had a quiet day;
bettering myself in an acting class
run by a
trans
woman
of color
immigrent
who let me let my
witchy poet side
rise
and this year…
this year it’ll be another quiet one.
our plans are simple:
my spouse is creating their own company
with the intention to make life better
for those who have to deal with this
capitalistic hellscape;
and i will be making art for protest–
embroidery,
and writing,
rehearsing for queer shows,
and reading more words by more folks
who don’t look like me/
who weren’t raised in the privileges i was raised/
but we still have so much in common.
and the two of us, my spouse and i,
we won’t spend any money
(except in donation
to those who need
more than we),
we’ll make our own food
and cut our own hair,
mend our own clothes,
and give each other care,
and maybe some seeds will sprout today
(both literally and figuratively)
that will give future us even more reason
to stop giving to this country
until this country gives back
to those it’s taken from.
(it’s a small protest, we know
but maybe, if you can do a little bit, too,
we might be able to dismantle
systems of oppression
bit
by bit
by bit)
so, welcome,
those of you who have decided
against
celebrating this day today,
we’re so glad you’re here.
even when i’m sad
or overwhelmed
with the state of the world
this puppy doesn’t know
this puppy just wants to play
this puppy will look at me
with a tilted head
trying so hard to figure out what i’m saying
this puppy will sleep so peacefully
her feet dance and dance and dance
this puppy may not know
what’s happening
in the world
or down the street
or even fully understand
what’s happening in this house
but this puppy is happy
and that happiness
infects me
infects us
every day
and makes the world’s problems seem
a little
less daunting
for a moment
(and that is what i call
self
care)
i have a recurring dream
(in that it has happened twice)
where i’m trying to get to a
circus training place in
Bushwick
but the daytime trains are all delayed
so i have to take a lesser known line
but instead of being like a regular
subway
system
or even an
elevated train
it is pretty much a
mine cart
tromping
open aired
through secret forested areas of Brooklyn
on smaller rail lines
held up on top of stones and rocks
reminiscent of the tracks
i grew up
walking along
at all hours
day
and
night.
in the mornings
i am coming into my own
and i write
and i write
and i say
very little
during the day
i am observing all my own
and i think
and i think
and i write
very little
at night, before sleep
my mind analyzes
everything on its own
and i ponder
and i prepare
and i write masterpieces
in my mind
but i really write
not at all
and in the morning
it’s gone.
i can feel you
just past my fingertips
lightly guiding my time
here
and i wonder if you
hear me when
i talk to
you
~~~
language
is a slippery slope
a slow burn to
bonfire blaze
flames
licking the sides
of a place
you once called
home
language
and manipulation of it
is spending years
decades even
trying to find
the perfect word or phrase
for every situation/
meaning/
feeling
until you realize
language will never be enough
so you just do what you gotta
until the day when something
comes close enough
that it gives you
a shadow of
that feeling
language
is my art form
and when i’ve done it right
it paints pictures without a canvas,
tells stories sans narratives,
brings others into a close embrace
without ever
getting
near
and for someone who despises words
and their limitations
as much as i do,
i sure hold language dear.
~~~
is it time?
time to prose it up
again?
my fingers now type
automatically
in stanzas
(could i even go back
to straight narrative
if i tried?)
these poems might not be
exactly
what i’m trying to say,
but damn is it closer than any
‘stream of consciousness’
over-writing
will get me.
stop
looking at memes
and write
please
[a memo to myself]
i
don’t really know
what to say
anymore
To Do
Today:
An Experiment;
let’s warm up a little
with this Morning Poetry
but
let the majority of the writing happen
later
after breakfast
after naps
when the day is fully itself
and i feel myself too.
maybe then inspiration can be
things happening
my feelings
my emotions
my thoughts
not just
‘i’m so tired’
or
‘i want to be able to write’
maybe
possibly
this could be
my way in.
kipventures 