Category: poetry

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

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..

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.

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.

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.

Monoliths await to pass judgment,

Statues with cemented views carved

Guard the way to the precipice,

Seated on pillars, foundations planted in sand.

There’s only one way through here

Know thyself, as they know you

As they know women, as they know men

As they know gay, as they know music

As they know art, as they know vegan

As they know straight, as they know lesbian

As they know Christian, as they know transition

As they know not themselves, only us in the end

For they save all their judgement for everyone

But them, and their own unpassable tests.

Failure is the only option for a gate with no keys

So long live the judges, and into the fire with me

I’m not a monolith, never will be, cement me

All you like– it makes no difference to me

I broke the molds behind the gates ages ago

And the gatekeepers are guarding nothing

But pride in what they think they know

Like knitting in the round

For eternity spinning circles

That orbit us like stars

In a universe we think

Revolves around us.

But what do they mean really?

These intangibly weaved webs

Give meaning to meaninglessness,

Beg us to forgive and forget,

Lies we’ve told and been told

Again and again become truths

..But only in our heads..

Words, words, words,

Grotesque procession drivers,

Making you think you think

You’ve got it all figured out,

How to know what it’s like to exist,

To describe and capture the key

That unlocks the universes within

And without hesitation, lift us up

To your sugar-plum salvation

Filled with words, words, words

Spun in forty-two spinning wheels

Up in the attic, above reality

But the truth is in math and knowing

Everything is improbable, everything

Is incalculably trumped by infinity

In small spaces like hearts,

With no room for words.