Flaws

On broken mirrors to reflect on.

They’ll break you down

And make you nothing

A perfect void unfilled

Needing to be exploited

A perfect void to fill–

He’s ringing the bell

So come on down,

And down and down and down,

Take one of these, and one of those

To fill and fill and fill, as down and down

And down we go, to get what we need

Below– where the bell ringer waits

To take and take and take and take

Taking payment to make us fake, fake, fake

Surrounded by stuff and wearing masks

Hidden, broken down and hollow pits

Empty still and lying to ourselves

Never willing to admit we’re no one

Because we’re not okay with it

So we ring our bells and follow them

Down to our own hell, to consume

It all and sustain the unsustainable

Insatiable appetites for bells, that ring

And ring, and ring and ring, for more

And more meaningless definitions like:

Shackles to language, and missing rhymes

Lost on filling empty lives with empty lies

Crammed, into dusty cabinets, shaken off

Only when somebody else needs them

So they might not believe what you know is true

Every time you look in the mirror

Inside

A poem written before same-sex marriage was federally legalized in the United States by Obergefell v. Hodges on June 26, 2015.

Happy Pride Month!

“How queer that we’re apart now,

at this final place

of white walls and deal desks

behind which you sit

and say to me, ‘You can’t see her, you’re not family,’

family?   I will show you family

I will show you two in love

In ways which you can never understand

In your petty leather chair

I will show you us.

In an embrace on a sofa

In the final moments of a movie

I will show you happy sighs

I will show you lullabies

What will you show me?

You will show me paperwork

You will show me laws

You will show me meaningless things

You won’t show me love

I will show you knitted scarves

In secretly wrapped boxes

I will show you bedtime books read aloud

In our sweet voices.

I will show you happiness

In sharing a springtime sky

I will show you flowers on countertops

In glass vases and well-loved pots

I would show you all these things

To be

Inside.

What will you show me? It seems clear..

You will show me the door.

But which door will it be?”

Naught Knowing

Well, what do you know?

Growing up is learning to know

How to know how to know

The ineffable as the inevitable

True face of God– unconditional

Non-dependent, the free radical

Fractal that implodes on itself

In self-destructive acts of creation

A universe sliding from its side–

A gift for already dying children

Fearing the inevitable ineffable bang

That whimper they’ve always wanted;

Time is the flame, the world is the wick

And it is on fire, burning melting wax

That is you, eternally imploding

Self-destructive fuel for the flame

You always want but can never have

His Procession

“And ye shall overthrow their altars, and break their pillars, and burn their groves with fire.” Deuteronomy 12:3

On this precipice, the eight stairs stare

Up.. Each.. Step.. the procession goes..

Haunted, though this house may be

By lost brothers, sisters, and deities,

Children like us were driven forward

Prodded, our parents and guardians

Drove us upward, by sins never atoned

Knowing that which cannot be known

With fear at our backs, whipping along..

Shaking my hand, a man leads us inside

Through the cellar door we thought

Went.. up.. but took us to the depths

Where we met the Unknown, He

Spoke to us through knowing men

Who showed us the pathway through

Brambles like hell for lying with them

Where those led astray would be trapped

Therein, entwined souls with earthly whims..

Women had done this, they were to blame

Processions of men would put out the flames

Just one way to save them, to put out the sin:

Sacrifice thyself on the Altar of Men.

Thou shalt have no other God before Him

Or so they say, “Him, Our One Truth”

O, Great pronouncer of pronouns,

Savior from our fears, give us your truth

Leaven us so that we leave this cellar fermented

Ready to spread your toxic seed

And in procession, bring you harvest..

Fear of the Unknown’s a rational one,

None such as when fermented by Truth

Like fire and toxin, doubt and pain,

Replace it with Truth, it all goes away

Back behind us, where He always goes

Driving on the procession..

Dark Matter

Misery is an introvert who loves company.

Get up, it’s time to go

Don at dawn that mask you wear

Every morning; though you hate it

Carry it, like the two hundred others in your purse

Worn to be everything to everyone

Shattered selves, though they left you

Broken two hundred times passed

One for the Father, One for the Son,

One for the Mother, though she asked for none

One for the Daughter, who never was

Made to be Woman before she was young

One to the One you never wanted to be

And one-hundred ninety-four you’d rather not see

No one knows what it’s like

Living with all those fractures,

Those frustrating divides,

They just can’t see the weight of it all

Though they get caught up in its gravity

Never knowing the weight of what you wore

Or how it kept them from drifting out into orbit–

Lost, in dark matters, like time, and space,

Where they would see the same voids you found

On the dark side of them all, where you always hide yourself

Hoping they’ll never see what what you’ve seen

Lying, beneath every one.

Take It From Me

A song for justice.

I want a world

Where I can be what I’m not,

Free from these cages and chains,

Where justice is rot in my stride

With my boot to your back as I walk away.

 

But I need a world where you’ll be free too

So I’m sitting right here til my grave

I may be a slave but I won’t be alone

And together, we might be okay..

 

But it’s not okay is it?

No, not even close

When the only way out is your backside

Freedom just can’t be just..

 

Do you believe in liberty,

And justice, for all?

I don’t know about you all, but I do

I need it so much..

 

So take it from me,

I’ll give it up for you,

Give me your tired your poor and your meek,

Because that’s me too,

Though not as much as you

Oh please let me help you escape.

Auntie Tom – Spoken Word

The Uncle buried beneath the tree.

I’m trying something new and have made recordings of my poem “Auntie Tom” and set them to music. Below you’ll find links to both the SoundCloud and YouTube versions. I hope you enjoy!!

There’s a place that exists

Between myself

And my self,

Where lies;

Beneath the surface

Undermine me–

They spread like wildfire,

Burning us, like dead tree stumps.

“Auntie’s a man! Don’t you see his XY chromosomes?

A man named Tom and that is all– that is all!”

“She’s a woman! DNA doesn’t matter, SHE

is not like any male I recall.

…And her name’s Nell,

A female;

S H E

never was ‘Tom’.”

“Stop it!” Nell cried,

Struggling;

Grappling;

With him again:

“My name was Tom,

it hurts to say..

There’s baggage with it,

and hell to pay..

You can’t know what it’s like,

Living on edges so grey,

To carry the burdens of Uncle Thomas,

Auntie Nell never having her say!

What’s a scorned woman to do

With such burdensome men?

But kill them over

and over again?

He might rest in peace,

If you’d just let me live,

But instead here’s Uncle Thomas again,

Cursed by you to live among men. “

“THAT’S TRANSPHOBIC!” one activist cried,

“THAT’S MISOGYNISTIC!” another replied.

Auntie Tom walked onward with a sigh,

Back into the place between herself and her self;

Tripping, over

Misunderstandings;

Like brambles in time,

Cutting through, and through and through,

Uncle Tom died:

Then revived;

Revived;

And revived to be shed,

By Auntie Nell with her ever-waiting edge.

“Stay out of my spaces!” a woman cried through her lips

“Keep out of mine too, faggot,” boasted a man with his fists,

Twisting Nell into Tom

And Tom into Nell..

Contriving her soul

Into liquid-like hell;

Wringing it out, pouring

Into the void of themselves.

Cursed, they now carry on

With the truth of their lies;

Knowing the hells of Auntie Nell

And the heavens Tom will never find,

As a man who wants to, but just can’t die.