success
isn’t always fleeting
sometimes it’s delayed
or avoided
or even unknown
sometimes
success
means something different
from the outside than from the in
sometimes
success
shouldn’t be measured
anyway
because accomplishment
and competition
stem from that same capitalism
that’s ruining
everything
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.
constitutional protections
to life
liberty
and the pursuit of happiness
are being stripped away to reveal
all we ever had
was the right to make money
for others
~~~
i’m all for corpse rights
but
when a dead person has more
bodily autonomy
than 50% of living citizens
something seems
off
~~~
although
with gun rights the way
they are
we might be dead soon anyway
so…
…yay upcoming rights?
it is
very
hard to concentrate this morning
and i don’t know if it’s from
the stress of last night
or
the vividness of the dreams
or
the sadness of this morning
or
the lack of coffee in my bloodstream
or what
but
it is
very
extremely
extraordinarily
bizarrely
quite
hard to concentrate this morning.
~~~
i feel like i’m getting a better handle
on what makes my poetry
my poetry
(but i really have
absolutely
no idea
still
about what makes any poetry
‘good poetry’)
~~~
i would like to write
another
slam poem;
start a flow
and just go,
balance out the rhythm and rhyme
with internal structure,
alliteration,
and find
the transitions,
the cues,
from one section
to anther,
playing with words
and meaning
and framing
the repeating
as metaphor
as a tool
as a lock to turn the key
and find out something new
about me,
about life,
about our home planet earth,
and our collective strife
to stay alive
when all we want
is eternal sleep
(not necessarily because
death is the answer we’re looking for,
but because all these
isms
and power structures
and so-ingrained made up concepts
keep us so wide awake
that sleep seems a necessity
we never get to get
[when was the last time you had
an actual
honest to goodness
no stress
very good
night’s sleep?]
so i guess
that’s what this poem’s about:
the collective trauma
that is
white supremacy/capitalism/america
and how the one thing
that could give us
the fight
we need
to dismantle it
is the the thing
it keeps us
from doing
every
single
night.
(and are my daytime naps
my making up
for this lack,
or is that just a symptom
of the depression
my awareness
of these systems
gives me?)
((or is that a subject
for another poem
for another day?))
pondering
but not writing
thinking
but not prose-ing
mulling
but not having anything to show for it
(but isn’t that the point of meditating on a subject?
you get a better idea of your own relationship to it
without having the capitalist urge to prove it?)
(maybe?)
(i do a lot that stems from capitalism,
though i abhor the entire philosophy,
or at least the way it’s influenced us societally;
i feel the need to constantly be productive
and have something useful grow from that productivity…
but sometimes humans just need to human,
sit around,
enjoy company,
enjoy having a body–
but i’ve been taught that my body is lesser,
and therefore i should change it to redeem its worth,
and the idea of simply enjoying my body
as is,
natural,
and naturally,
is revolutionary…
and boy do i love breaking rules
and being contrary,
so why do i still feed into this capitalist myth
by feeling it necessary to not feed this body?
…different parts of me feel so at odds
all the time)
i could be resistant to capitalism
in so many better
more revolutionary ways:
revolutionary love
revolutionary joy
revolutionary rest,
but i choose to stress
and strike
against my body’s needs
and worry about all who can’t be
anti-capitalist revolutionaries
and worry about those who buy into capitalism
and patriarchy
and white supremacy
and worry about pretty much everyone
and everything
(because, i’ll bet, if i’m worrying
i can’t be bringing revolution)
but also,
revolutionarily,
an entire change in structure/mindset/philosophy
is not solely mine to bring,
this is just another capitalist myth
clouding my mind
once more;
humans are social creatures
and we can depend on one another.
no one pulls themselves entirely up by their bootstraps,
there will always be someone willing to give them a chance,
or an account full of parents’ cash for the ‘just in case’ fall,
so why
why
why
do i buy
into this story
that i need to be
solo
for
ever
to have
any
worth?
capitalism;
coming to a brain-washing station
near you.
what to write about
what to ponder about
what to mull and meander in the mind?
~~~
[but] do i have a poem
to put
on my site
of poetries?
one from the beginning of todays’ mullings?
one from a day gone by?
no ideea…
what poems are
‘meant’
to come up
to blossom out
to emerge into fruition
full, tangible, edible fruit
of the creatively-writing tree
round your lips around them
digest them
feel them in your heart
but which
ones?
~~~
three short poems?
is that enough to quiet my inner capitalist
constantly telling me i’m not enough
unless i
produce
produce
produce?
rest is a thing
it’s a damn revelation
in a society that only supports
working oneself to the bone
burning the candle at both ends
living fast and
whooshing out
(and/but why the sudden need
desire
pull
to consume as well?
why do i just want to be looking at
vintage trousers
on etsy
and buying more gifts
for my spouse?
…’tis the season?)
i felt like
two days ago
i was worried it was close to the end of the month
then i found out
it wasn’t even the 20th yet
and today, today it’s the beginning of May
and my sense of time hasn’t been this off
since the beginning of the Global Patrick Stewart
last year
(over a year
ago
now)
and i have to wonder
if my sense of time is off
or if i just looked at the calendar wrong
or if time is a myth
and a mortal construction
and any feelings of ‘shoulds’
within the constraints of
‘time’
are all a product of capitalism
which in itself is a product of white supremacy
and we should be dismantling it all,
right?
our walking tour of the historic sites of stonewall and gay Greenwich Village
was postponed, likely to be canceled, without notice
for a Lady Gaga concert scheduled to begin
in seven and a half hours
and if that isn’t the perfect metaphor
for the commercialization and lost history
of Pride
i don’t know what is.
my other musings
on Machu Picchu
paint a picture
that may not be entirely accurate
i loved the stones
and the vastness
and the hike
and the mountains
i took hundreds of photographs
i smiled as i touched stones
stones that were put together so many years ago
houses that people lived in
and my brain began to wander
will there be a residence of mine
that will end up an archaeological site
will future generations walk the train tracks
the way they devoutly follow the IncaTrail,
still on their way to see ancient Machu Picchu
can it last, with the number of tourists
increasing every day?
(i wanted to sit and absorb the history
the spirituality
but my sunburn was getting worse
and the other people felt too close
and centuries away,
so we left and ate amazing food
and i pined for Machu Picchu
as our train followed those tracks
away)
when coming to Machu Picchu
many people call it a
‘bucket list trip’
to be there
to hike the entire Inca trail
it has also been called
‘a professional photographer’s dream’
and
‘spiritual’
but what happens when the busses
splattering mud
spewing diesel
cart tourists up and down that winding mountain road
all day long?
are we really experiencing something fantastic
before we die?
recording in image the beauty of long ago?
connecting spiritually to the past?
or are we simply a cog in a (money-making) machine?
how much of our respective ‘esposos’ can we talk about
and laugh
before the commonalities become apparent
and our wedding rings begin to look too similar?
(on homosexuality being illegal
but not necessarily punishable)
kipventures 