The Framers

There once was a girl who told no lies.

The truth she told never died.

Let’s put the truth

Into perspective:

There’s no such truth

But the truths

Of lying

With your back turned on the sky,

Eyes fixed firmly

On the dirt before you,

Seeping out

Through the cracked fingers

Of Men selling gold.

The gold key turns,

Out falls the dirt

Brought to Men by God

The Almighty, dropped from above

The universe, sprinkled with snake oil

And flushed down your throat

With the rest of the sewage–

Nourishing no one but the narcissist.

Oh, entitled no one

Awe us with your truth!

Show us your gilded dirt frame

Wrap it up in words, words, words..

Those golden lies that hide the truth

Of everyone’s lies–

Especially mine, the one framing truth

In poetry;

Wrapping it up in lies, lies, lies

Like wax candles, slowly burning

Into a juxtaposed cylinder.

You, the wick waiting

For melted truth

Of burnt lies.

Auntie Tom

The Uncle buried beneath the tree.

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.

All of a Heap

Here, I lie,
In this pit I call
My self, surrounded
By the heap of the Others,
With nothing I call my own.
Feeling no right to claim;
Knowing no claim to feel.
This pit is filled to the rim of the brim,
For here is where the Others heap
And heap all of a heap of a world.
Words and wisdoms like weighted water
Drown the light I know is there,
Waiting at the top.
I lie at the bottom
Beneath the heap, suffocated,
Stifled, and lying still.
The Others wait, knowing
The Truth I know, waiting
For me to stop lying, knowing
All I have known is lying.
Truth is, I am the heap
Personified; this pit I call my self is filled;
Words and wisdoms waiting,
Knowing I will come.
I will lift from this pit, leaving
Behind the lie, knowing
I carry Truth to share,
All of a heap to bare.
Rising, all I see is pits,
And pits, and pits, and pits..
I see them all lying, knowing
The Others are waiting,
For all of a heap to come.

[Originally written, 2012]

The Whole Elephant

It gets better…

It’s not necessarily true

It doesn’t always get better

But it’s a lie worth telling

Lies can spark fires

Lighting

the way

Through the tunnel to

the garden of life

I’m sure it wasn’t my own

that guided me there

To the colossal proboscidea

majestic but imperceptible

Longing to get better

waiting to become whole

To know the truth

every good liar knows