Lies My Parents Told Me

These are the lies my parents told me,
My preachers, teachers, leaders.
Those adults I trusted who never trusted me.
Who looked at the fire in my eyes and thought only to stomp it out before it began to smolder.

These are the lies my parents told me:
Your value you is in your virginity,
don’t give your one precious gift away so easily.
Without it you’re damaged and all the responsibility is on your shoulders.

These are the lies my parents told me:
The poor are that way because they’re lazy,
whiny, entitled, petulant wretches.
In the same breath, they complain about their lack of tax breaks.

These are the lies my parents told me:
Your love is only valid if it’s like mine,
in the confines of a monogamous, heterosexual marriage,
and feeling any other way damns you.

These are the lies my parents told me:
Racism is over, I don’t see color.
Those who say otherwise just don’t want to be held accountable.
And yet, I see my privilege in breaking news and broken bones.

These are the lies my parents told me:
You cannot have morals without Jesus.
Without the Cross, you’re worthless, dirty, useless.
But then they ask: why don’t you have any self-esteem?

These are the lies my parents told me:
you owe me your respect.
But you have to earn mine.
 Show me your allegiance.

I am my own person.
I will not be prisoner to someone else’s values.
I am a human being who deserves respect,
no matter how I choose to live my life.

You can pretty up your lies however you like,
paint them in colors that don’t look so damning,
but they’re still lies and I am not beholden to them.
I am not beholden to anyone but myself.

I am made of stardust and flames.
I am as hard as diamonds and I shine brighter.
You say anger isn’t the answer,
I say it makes me stronger.

I am heading a charge--
an entire generation fed up with the lies we’ve been told.
And we’re going to scream (tweet, blog, share)
the truth from the mountains.

Our “purity” is not the only worthwhile thing about us,
and our compassion for the downtrodden
     does not
make us weak.

Our love is powerful, and it doesn’t matter if it’s directed
     at men
         women
               or otherwise.

We will rail against inequality
in its every insidious form,
and we will do it all
without answering to a religion that doesn’t care about us.

We are the new era and we will not be lied to any longer.

On Regret

and the bitch of it is this;
that the situation that you hate so much
this horrible status quo--
you're the one who put it into place

like a self-fulfilling prophesy:
the coup of a spineless king and and his iron queen
destroyed by portents they had already been warned of--
you, too, knew what you had wrought

the scrape of a match on a box
a sharp inhale of breath as it lights your cigarette
but when you don't put it out fast enough
your fingers get burned

regret is hard to live with
and the scars it leaves can't be soothed by cold water
perhaps it is safer
not to acknowledge it at all

If stars were wishes
I'd trade a whole galaxy
Simply to have you

Passage (Of Time)

Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust
All of my dreams
have tarnished to rust.

Inches to inches,
Miles to miles
How far must I travel
to escape these trials?

Hour to hour,
day to day
Contrition does plague me
I can't get away.

Starlight to starlight,
Sunrise to sunset
How can I move on
beyond this regret?

Heartbeat to heartbeat,
breath to breath
This ache I am feeling
may bring on my death.

Autumnal Contemplation

You're sitting on the hood of your car at the cusp of autumn, smoking a cigarette.
     The stars are bright and the sky is dark. Grey smoke spirals lazily around your head as you lean back to admire the sight.

You're sitting on the hood of your car and the breeze bites just a bit more than it did last week. For a moment you wish you had someone to huddle with for warmth.
     Though a jacket might do just as nicely.

You're sitting on the hood of your car and for a moment, you can't remember why you came out here; what reckless longing sent you driving into the wilderness where the sky is wide and the stars outnumber people a million to one.
     Maybe you don't really need a reason.

Line up my sins like bottles on a shelf
The tinkling sound of breaking glass in every little white lie
The worst untruths are the ones you tell yourself

Crush(ed)

You want to say it started tonight
Standing in a brightly-lit gallery
surrounded on all sides by flower-covered animal bones.
You want to claim that your passion for the art
this shared enthusiasm is what began it all...
(It's a lie.)

Still, even if you know it has been going on longer
(Quite a bit longer)--
you know that this is that critical turning point.
The moment when your flight of fancy solidifies,
when it becomes real in your mind and you must face it.

So.
It may not have started tonight.
But it certainly took you until tonight to catch on.
It took a mutual love for wine and paintings,
dinner and religion in a tiny cramped diner,
and round after round of karaoke.

(It also took shot after shot of tequila,
warm shoulders, and wide grins,
but don't get carried away.)

Alcohol is funny that way.
Turns everything golden around the edges,
and smooths away sharp corners.
By the time you've realized the danger
you're too far gone to panic.