stronger than we give ourselves credit for
healing, is a rock
bashing into the sides of mountains,
slip then contained
only to sink when the rain comes
pushed up against the sides of roads, we have access
we are stronger than the knowledge we know how to access,
in our bones, it is ground into the crust of the substance in which we are made.
built up from pressure and condition
Resilience. In times we slip or roll or fall. pieces of us are still in tact, yet scattered to form other
healing, is a rock.
breaking and building trust
breaking and building truth
but oh how strong you are, and I wish that it were your eyes in which you were peering, not mine.
healing is a rock,
bashing into the sides of mountains, crumbling
as so reveal a history of layers of time
our history, of healing
our history, of surviving
we are made, formed, shaped, and taken
we are never defined.
cloudless is the trickster sky
it is falling, on me, or at least will be if I close my eyes.
watching clouds of waves take me away.
cloudless, however, is the sky tricking me
head in aches in pains, and all that is still is the way we were raised
constant and sure; hazy we are brave.
set in the ways of the folks that came before. elders, we were not taught to care.
so let us not forget how to slip the pieces of glass in between the photo and frame
the dustiest of boxes are hidden away and even if we took them down, the questions pondered of faces and ages would be relevant no longer
the way things glued back and forth like a swing into the moon.
cloudless is the trickster sky.
I am watching you as you are watching me, free and hopeless. free of hope free of care.
hopelessly breathing free.
cloudless is the trickster sky. no longer is it relevant, for now it is night and I am watching and waiting for the stars to uncover so I may ask they why.
What is shame,
but a rock in the sock of the soul.
We are habits, or creatures thereof
depending and proding
defending and imploding
we define, are defined by infatuation of good graces
make face, save face.
What is shame
but a a bitten tongue.
Mashed potatoes and salt.
Alison Kafer, Feminist Queer Crip
This section is concluded with the following endnote: “The organization Asian Communities for Reproductive Justice offers a particularly compelling definition of reproductive justice, one that easily encompasses attention to disability: “We believe Reproductive Justice exists when all people have the social, political and economic power and resources to make healty decisions about gender, bodies, sexuality and families for ourselves and our communities. Reproductive Justice aims to transform power inequalities and create long-term systemic change, and therefore relies on the leadership of communities most impacted by reproductive oppression. The reproductive justice framework recognizes that all individuals are part of families and communities and that our strategies must life up entire communities in order to support individuals.” Asian Communities for Reproductive Justice, accessed December 14, 2010”
I love you,
is what was muttered
as you slipped past the coffee table of me
It slipped, and fell into the forgotten air.spilled casually out of your parted lips.
I did not want to catch it. it slipped. stepped back and let it spell onto the floor.
Me, with the opinion of you sharing goat cider with the piercing
Me, with the opinion of being left behind
Me, sitting and waiting still in my piles of pages; apple cores raw
You muttered, later on, that it slipped.
You slipped words between teeth as you sat folding your belongings in the street.
Me, still with the opinion of being left behind.
Sorrow begotten and away.
I did not want to catch it. It slipped.
Not believing, pining. Once again, away is where you are.
Today, I sat peering over the coffee stains of our ways, it slipped.
You slipped, back into the place between my rib cage hollowness.
back among your place with the bats.
I did not want to catch it. It slipped. stepped back and let it spell onto the floor