most other years
i struggle a bit with writing
the old year vs. the new
but typing i’ve always gotten used to it
just a wee bit faster
(indeed, last year, i could not WAIT
to add that tiny line
that indicated
the entire year of March
was finally done)
but i’ve gone multiple days
(near half a month)
this year
and keep forgetting to switch
that 1 to a 2
and…
is that some sort of omen???
time
sure is
a measurement
of
whatever
that was
and whatever
this will be.
it’s getting close
to the end of the year
and i’m overwhelmed
by how much
and how little
happened this
twenty twenty-one.
~~~
wordplay
play with the
prefixes
suffixes
rhymes
(internal
and
external)
believe
in
beliefs
and skew slant down
to the ground
just to raise it up
let it rise
bake the pies
see with eyes
how silly words
can play just as well
and a scheme isn’t needed
as necessary as you well
know it
blow it
up
up
up
and let it fly
away.
~~~
let
Imperfection
sit.
perhaps it’s just the folks i know up there,
but nearly everyone i know in Canada
has passed on their normal July 1 celebrations
to contemplate the bodies of indigenous children
that continue to be unearthed.
and i feel guilty that i’m not surprised.
and i feel ashamed that my country probably has ten times as much blood on its soul
(at least)
and i feel embarrassed that there is no national day of reckoning here,
no setting aside celebrations
for the purpose of confronting our relationship with the
problematic,
hardly taught,
secret history of our nation.
last year i confronted July 4th,
i marched and chanted and sat and listened
in a crowd gathered;
white folks there to learn,
Black and Brown folks there to share and celebrate.
i stared squarely into the face of what it means to be
born
on stolen ground.
i looked down at my feet,
where i expected to see myself standing on only my own accomplishments,
and finally saw the backs of Black folks i’d unintentionally climbed over,
that my ancestors had climbed over,
had climbed onto
had used (knowing or not) as a step up for themselves.
and i saw the blood on all our hands.
i watched native dances from the tribes of lands we live on now,
and i heard words from folks who chose this country over their homeland,
in spite of what it meant for their skin,
but because of what it meant for their queerness,
(though that story is also so very complicated)
and last year the only fireworks were from everyday people in the neighborhood
just letting off a little steam,
no city or state or nation led celebration,
instead individually making the ‘holiday’ what everyone wanted.
what everyone needed.
what do i do this year?
there should have been ten times as many people confronting July 4th last year,
there should be ten times more doing the internal work this year,
but i can only worry about myself and what i do.
so i’ll do my work.
i’ll continue to do my work.
though i know there’s no end in sight;
that’s what it means to be a citizen here.
vaccinated
activated
impervious to what 2021 can throw at me
(jk, that’s a total lie, please don’t be mean to me, 2021!)
what i’d really like is to feel like i belong somewhere again…
i found it last in the troika
and the magpies
and bst
why
do i even want to fit in
i’ve spent my life wanting to be weird,
to be against the grain
to march to the beat of my own drummer.
and i don’t really want to march to everyone else’s drummer,
far from it,
but there is a bit of a feeling of relief
when one finds that someone else can hear their own beat
that at least one other is dancing just as emphatically
empathetically
our bodies moving in similar rhythms
finding a symmetry in our differences
and i think i miss that in platonic friendships
most of all
because i do still have my spouse
dancing to our drum-beats
blues rhythms
and slinky dips
and our silly dances made up of inside jokes
but i need variety
adventure
something new
but something that connects me to more than just me
(and kip and i are, at this point, just one person, if we’re being totally honest)
but where do i find that connection
that dance
when there’s a global panda express still raging on
and i can’t seem to stop myself from observing when i meet new people
and i’m still afraid of the internet, the place most of us are meeting new people/
connecting with old
in this day and age?
i think i just want an acting gig,
as i spoke about with my scene partner for class,
a recurring role on a sci-fi series,
regular acting roles that exercise my imagination so it’s always in tip top shape
silly makeup
making use of my weird look
weird hair
(the hair that that baby said made me look like a rockstar last night)
and maybe i can connect with characters…
that is the way that i often connect,
that was the confusion my first try at college,
wasn’t it?
was i falling in love with that boy
or was i falling in love with his character
or was my character falling in love with him
or was my character falling in love with his character
and on and on and on
connections lasting as long as
a show
or a class
or a simple scene
but they were still connections
(quick/fast/dirty/just how i like ‘em)
kipventures 