Friday, August 31, 2018

learning to pray

you wanted me to bow down
to your gods
and all these other men

but I couldn't find my way
to the ground

but then there was fire
ribbons of light
swirling in the wind, the night.

my head dropped low,
I didn't even have to try.

Then there were birds
singing in my ear

something with wings that flies so high
also spends time far below.

I too, can bow much lower.

I can clasp my hands together and dive into the lake
to be where there is no breath


I come up, gasp in awe.


How miraculous,
this earth.

where to look

the sunken sunflower still leans to the sun
even if, this lean is also a fall,
also a death.

it still knows where to look
even when it's almost gone

Sunday, August 12, 2018

Today, Sonia and I entered the house of someone who voted for Trump. She offered us some orange juice, had us sit at her table. She was still in her pajamas. We were canvassing for Blake Morris, the person running against Sen. Felder in the Kensington area (District 17). When she mentioned that she has issues with the democratic party and voted for Trump in the last election, I was certain the conversation was over. But by that point we were already sitting at the table, looking at eachother -- she had invited us in, we had entered. We started with the New York Health Care Act. She has friends, she told us, that can’t afford health care and just continue their lives with their ailments, trying to ignore them. Yes, she would support a candidate that could change this. She has a friend who lost her kid on Ocean Parkway because there are no high speed cameras to regulate a speed limit. Blake Morris could change this.
She told her stories, we told ours.
The conversation moved into harder areas. She exposed her fear of Muslims. That the bible says homosexuality is a sin. I noticed my body go tense, and felt the gaze of her daughter watching my reaction. I softened my clenching jaw. I was in her house. Drinking her orange juice, sitting at her table. She continued, "But we all have sin in us, so who am I to point a finger at anyone? Who am I?" I said I agreed -- we must look inward for change.
She said she would vote for Blake Morris, she would tell her friends.
She wanted to keep talking, but we got up to leave, we had other houses to get to, more hours of canvassing ahead. But I wonder now what would have happened if we had stayed. If we kept on talking. If I told her I was queer, and that also I’m an awesome person. If I asked her if she has ever invited her Muslim neighbors across the street over for orange juice.
Sometimes, I’m really not sure what I’m doing in this life, but today it was all very clear. I want to talk to people. I want to go to their houses, knock gently on their doors, and try to understand, to listen, to speak. NYC has every kind of people, and also, we know so little about their lives. I have never seen the inside of someone’s house that voted for Trump. I have never even walked over.
We were there for 20 minutes, but it felt like a very far travel, to a place we were all lucky to arrive. I hope to return. I hope to keep trying. I hope we all keep trying.

Tuesday, August 7, 2018

Roots (lyrics)

Falling pieces of the sky
Will we ever meet on one side

The wind is pulling me away
Up past the trees, past the clouds, past the ether

Far from your eyes.

(i miss my life)

You were my earth.
You held me close to the ground.

And now I'm ripped away, falling, falling, in the hurricane.

(i miss my life)

I must find my own roots.

I must find my own roots.

Deep in the soil, deep in the ground, like an old oak tree, waiting to be found.

I will give to me---

what I gave to you----

back to me
back to me
back to me...

Monday, June 4, 2018

What we knew            What we didn’t know (yet)


That we had been friends forever,
and always would be.       
That there always is a breaking point.       
        


You would walk into a room, and I would wave
with the biggest smile. You would laugh at my
ridiculously large smile, and
I would smile more.
  That this love, somehow became too much for you.



Our amazing connection
was bigger than everything else.


Until it wasn’t.
Until the trauma was bigger than everything else.



Even when the world around was a serious,
heavy place, we could still dance and leap with
umbrellas in the rain.


You could forget the joy, the good.


Your wound could make you cruel.


My wound could make me desperate.                     




We could finish eachother’s thoughts.


But somehow we still held secrets.





I loved you so much.
I loved you too much.





We would go get chocolate mousse for our
birthdays like the year before, like always.  


We would never get to wish eachother
a happy birthday.


You would just suddenly be gone.



You would break if I needed you too much.
But I didn’t know how much.



We would still laugh even when breaking up,
I could talk in a silly accent, you would be
listening to strange music that didn’t fit the
mood and we would laugh at the absurdity.
We could still hug and remember
all the love and hope for a future.


Two weeks later you would send an email destroying it all.
Leaving me with nothing.


Except the grief.
Which is endless.


And I would take any little moment back
to not have to feel this pain.



There were so many little things
But it was the little things that finally broke us.



And now, even the memories feel like nothing at all
Because the way you chose to end, erased it all.



We could laugh even in hard times.


And that last time we hung out,
innocently taking funny pictures at dunkin donuts
next to strange posters would be our last time.


And I walk by that place everyday
and wonder how it’s possible
that everything blew up so fast.

Or, how we didn’t even see it slowly burning.

Friday, May 11, 2018

This is the pain that was always there

the child that never stopped crying.
the fathers that left.
the mother frozen in trauma.
the grandpa, broken from war.


the grandma locked in her castle.
the sister hiding her scars.
the child that left her body.
the girl that could’ve been a boy.


the boy that never was.
the person now trapped in a body.
the father at his desk, turned away.
the mother refusing to eat.


this is everytime the child was left.
the person now tries hard to love,
but instead pushes people away.


the grandpa who couldn’t stop hitting.
the mother that still doesn’t eat.
the woman that must die
for the person to live


the name we must lose.

what we must give up,
to be who we are.


This is the loss of you.
But this is not about you. 

This is the child, afraid.
The parents, too injured to hold the child.


So it must be the person, as the child.
To become whole, to break
To stay there
To listen. 


The child and the person
Both at once
The part and the whole
The wave and the sea
The moment gone
The moment to come.


The person holds the child.
The child screams.
The person says it’s ok it’s ok


I'm here.
I'm here
I'm finally here.


I’m sorry I left for so long.

Sunday, April 8, 2018

nowhere to go

All week my heart has felt like it's been bursting from my chest.

The panic and fear of sudden and unbearable loss.

I remember this pain.

I have been burned and crushed before,
spread out like ash in the soil,
only to watch myself slowly resprout again in time.

There have been too many years spent reaching out to feel love.

What if I didn't have to?

What if deep in my self,
underneath my chest made of shattered glass,
underneath my stomach made of fire,
what if I found a part of me
within me
that loves and supports me.

My spine is there, like a trunk of a tree, holding me, lifting with each breath.

There's nowhere to go
but here.

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