i hate
hate
hate
being sick
time stops making sense
daytime naps and nighttime coughing fits
food tastes awful
but my stomach starves for it
the days take so long
but nothing gets done
and liquids
fluids
anything wet
imbibed continually
till my system’s flushed out
and i know
it won’t be over
tomorrow
ugh
A Sad Halloween
a wide lime green bowl
atop a crimson stool
laying in fun-sized-candy wait
at the end of an un-swept driveway
no human to greet
no calm dog to meet
no new-to-the-neighborhood welcome
because we are inside
up two flights
hoping to not spread our illness
with this holiday cheer we love
it’s the most wonderful time of year
but not for us
this year
not
for
us
(but hey, at least we can get
some joy out of this
silly-goofy
hyperactive
puppy-dog)
(and our lack of brain-fog)
split attention
books on audio
poetry on iPad
fevers and coughs and naps and care/on beds and floors and couches…
COVID finally this this house
(but only one human shows it)
Fauci Ouchie
Rounds One and Two
were
adventures
i didn’t really write
about Booster 1
(would that be Fauci Ouchie Round Three?)
because
i actually felt that one
(just extreme tiredness,
but still)
and
things started opening up
too early
just like i foresaw
and getting the boosters felt
like a civic duty
and the least i could do
and everything
and nothing
and knowing
people weren’t doing it
just felt
like too
much
but now
i’ve Booster-ed twice–
Four Rounds
of Fauci Ouchies–
and i expect to get exhausted
and i expect to feel all the feels
and getting this was a hassle and a half
but there’s no way
i wouldn’t do it
because it isn’t about me
it was never about me
this is about
those folks
who can’t
and those folks
who remain sheltering in place
as people and corporations and governments
alike
decide
any life
is an
“acceptable loss”
and normies decided
that going back to ‘normal’
is better
(and easier)
than what we could be doing–
finding
something
different
and better
for everyone
(as we endure
the global pandemic
that is
STILL
raging)
(and in case you haven’t caught on
from how i put it in the words before
this little parenthetical here,
this poem is about
disabled people,
immunocompromised people,
chronically and currently ill people,
and people who don’t fit our society’s
very limited
standards of
“normal”
who deserve
all the accessibility
that we can ever
give them)
i didn’t think i would,
but i
felt *something*
while observing
curtain call
at that broadway theater
yesterday afternoon.
a little something
was the show itself—
pushing boundaries,
addressing hard topics,
calling in and calling out.
but another something
was simply seeing
human beings
on a stage
in front of hundreds/thousands—
a crowd
here to see
all Black faces and voices
and it being my
(technically accidental)
return
to seeing
live theatre…
auspicious?
inspiring?
fortuitous?
serendipity…
perhaps broadway is changing for the better?
—but—
while those feelings are definitely in there,
i think there was something else,
something additional…
a giant sense of
‘i didn’t let myself miss this
until right now’
i’ve missed the theater itself
physically
psychologically,
conceptually,
and i’ve missed performing on stage,
of course,
that’s in my blood—
but something in me missed
the actual
going to see
a good show
i didn’t know that about myself
until just now
and i’ll keep it
close
to my heart
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
internally
raw
worn
torn
injured
maybe bleeding
(maybe healing?)
~~~
i look at the the date
“happy manniversary!” i tell my kip
“i didn’t do anything…” they say, as their face falls
from their initial surprise-joy
“it’s ok” i say, hoping to turn the mood
from sadness
to a dark humor
that will also then
bring us down
again
to all that’s been:
“two years ago today
we were
~supposed~ to be seeing
Hadestown.”
we laugh
and sigh
and continue on inside
as the pandemic still goes on
(as much as folks pretend it isn’t
with lax guidelines
and ignoring science
and pleas from healthcare workers
falling
not on deaf ears
but on those that simply
wish not to hear)
outside.
~~~
my poetry this morning
seems to be coming from a different place
a place of allowing
the cacophony
and angst
to broil itself down
to the basics
of words
and feelings
and leaving
them all
on the page[screen]
[[[for once]]]
amidst the attacks
on trans kids’ care
and Ukraine
and the continued unfounded laxations
on policies meant to keep us safe and healthy
and, of course, the never-ending attacks of
those of color in this country
(particularly those Black in this country)
amidst all this tragedy and infuriation and chaos yesterday
i achieved a personal best,
an achievement,
a goal i’d thought unattainable,
and i need to remind myself that i’m allowed to celebrate that.
i can celebrate and mourn,
i can celebrate and call to action,
i can celebrate and take action,
i am not required to fix the world
before i work on my silly little circus moves
in fact
working on my silly little circus moves
is what gives me the strength to do all i need to for the world…
without circus,
without celebration,
without exercise and investigation
of what my body can do,
without art and all i do to self-express,
without that humanity
i am simply left
a giant mass of depression,
and depression/forlornness/existential dread;
that is [part of] what maintains the status quo.
without art/celebration/joy
i am left overwhelmed with all that needs to be done
in the world.
with,
i can balance
all i know is terrible
with my little pieces of what is good,
so i can have the energy to call representatives
and give my little bits of extra income
and write poetry to [maybe] inspire others
as well
we,
those of us who are queer,
those of us with mental states that fill us
with anxiety
and/or
despair,
we are human
and are allowed our humanity,
our joy,
our celebration,
our art,
and, as a lovely side-effect,
that humanity,
when taken,
can help us do our part
to negate some of the external sources
of our stress and panic and dread.
i am allowed to celebrate
just to celebrate
because i am human
(no matter how many conservative lawmakers try to deny that about me and my kin)
i am human
and i am allowed joy in my life
and perhaps my joy can uplift others in their joy as well
so here’s to baby’s first solid, unassisted, one-armed meathook,
to the side-abs i am creating
and the joy i am stoking
in myself
because i am allowed,
i need no external validation
but it helps to hear it out loud all the same,
i am allowed
i am allowed
and i can bring others up as well.
am i
((will i ever))
getting used to new york?
my new york?
the new york of constant facemasks,
and slightly less people around times square
(not that i’d ever want to go there),
and no real outings
yet;
but still the persistence,
the perseverance,
the resistance to unkind niceness
and unfounded stupidity
(not saying that isn’t around
it’s just,
as a whole,
here we are.)
and the problem with getting used to
a new york
mid-pandemic
is that, as disgusting as this city is,
i really don’t feel comfortable
or safe
anywhere else.
i keep pondering early in this
panini
when i wrote and wrote
pages upon pages
freehand
freeverse
free of other older morning page expectations
and i wondered what the world would be like
‘post’
pandemic…
and i felt it,
at the very core of my being
that we’d
‘go back to normal’
before it was really,
truly,
clear
to do so,
and that the ‘normal’
we were heading back towards
had the potential to change,
to be a ‘normal’ benefitting more people
than the normal
benefitting a very
very
very
tiny
percentage,
but i felt it,
that it wouldn’t change
we “couldn’t” change
we wouldn’t change.
and lo and behold
all my strife
from mid-march 2020
to april, may, june, july 2020
most of that has come to fruition:
we aren’t ready,
people are still catching
ventilizing
dying
and half the population is still
pretending
this virus
doesn’t exist.
and of course
we’re going
‘back to the grind’
as if that’s a good thing,
as if it’s strength
or a moral righteousness
that gets you through
(rather than random genetics
and generational privileges
and a system set up to benefit
the few)
and as if
this ‘grind’
is our entire culture
(i mean, at this point, it is,
but that doesn’t make it
good
or right)
and i wish i had something better to say
than ‘i saw this coming’
i mean, i’m sure folks more versed in
infectious disease
and sociology
and economy
and the ‘why’s’ of all this
also saw this coming…
i guess i just wish
i’d had more time
to live in a world of hope
than i actually got.
kipventures 