These are your options:
Be demur and dishonest.
Flutter your eyelashes and lie, lie, lie.
Tell them everything they want to hear,
bless their hearts.
Let them get away with murder.
Cover your gaping wounds and go home to flatline in private.
Be reasonable and resilient.
Don’t let them off the hook so easily--
It takes two to tango
and you never dance alone.
Keep smiling, but let them see the sharp edge.
Make sure they know you forgive, but you’ll survive by remembering.
Be furious and fatal.
You will not take the fall for this.
Spit poison barbs without remorse
and carve into their excuses,
your knife dripping hot with blame like blood.
Leave them motionless on the floor and don’t look back.
Some say the first option is weak
and the third inhumane.
Clearly only the middle is safe ground on which to stand.
But I say you cannot blame a snarling animal
for lashing out when it’s cornered,
nor a broken heart for smashing everything else.
30 July, 2015
20 June, 2015
Perils of Packing
Putting your life into boxes,
placing with care the delicate things that make up your home.
Penning a warning on a lid:
PRIVATE, FRAGILE, HEAVY
Progressing through your task to the darkest reaches of your closet...
Pausing.
Perceiving the significance of what you've found,
possibly untouched since your last move.
Prompting memories that you've also tried not to touch,
perhaps your hesitance was in vain.
Prudence suggests that you walk away.
Precaution tells you to resume your chore;
Pandora opened a box and look how well that turned out!
Possibly better than this is going to...
Pertinacious in your folly, you continue,
pressing on into this barred-up corner of your memories.
Pain comes swiftly and you greet it without surprise,
perversely accepting the heartache and regret.
Pugnacious and petulant, you endure,
penitent, but uncertain how to change things.
Perhaps, for now, you should move on.
Packing is perilous, but it must be done.
placing with care the delicate things that make up your home.
Penning a warning on a lid:
PRIVATE, FRAGILE, HEAVY
Progressing through your task to the darkest reaches of your closet...
Pausing.
Perceiving the significance of what you've found,
possibly untouched since your last move.
Prompting memories that you've also tried not to touch,
perhaps your hesitance was in vain.
Prudence suggests that you walk away.
Precaution tells you to resume your chore;
Pandora opened a box and look how well that turned out!
Possibly better than this is going to...
Pertinacious in your folly, you continue,
pressing on into this barred-up corner of your memories.
Pain comes swiftly and you greet it without surprise,
perversely accepting the heartache and regret.
Pugnacious and petulant, you endure,
penitent, but uncertain how to change things.
Perhaps, for now, you should move on.
Packing is perilous, but it must be done.
04 May, 2015
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.
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.
21 December, 2014
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
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
24 November, 2014
04 November, 2014
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.
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.
19 October, 2014
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.
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.
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