The Mistake of Hope

Sometimes it bunches up like water,
filled with debris of ignorance and naivety:
childish dreams with even more foolish expectations,
as if we haven't all been here before.
So the aquifer is drained,
the channels washed,
the priests are brought in,
yet again,
with the same persistence,
making the same mistakes again,
for the sake of a painless transition.
And here we are again.
Hoping.
Like children expecting a fountain to spout toys.

-o0o-

"Used Goods" on Poetry Potion

Please head over to Poetry Potion to see my Poem Used Goods.

-o0o-

Dreamer

restless dreamer

I see you

with open eyes

who sees the world

in ways unthought

we can shape it

remake this world anew

light it in fairer lights still

twist and bend and skew

queer the world so

in dreams of every hue

we brought this world into being

we can smash it

recreate it

and nobody would be any the wiser

-o0o-

Be Very Afraid of Old White Men

Be very afraid of old white men,

they've achieved much on the bones of others.

They know the hows and when,

to make widows of wives, and nestless mothers.

Be very afraid of old white men,

they've bought the land with money they stole,

careless again and again,

stealing gold, diamond, and coal.

Be very afraid of old white men,

with chains that still make slaves:

shackled the skin of colour, and then,

dance upon their graves.

-o0o-

Sisyphus

it doesn't have to be pointless
the effort could be heartless
time your efforts, keep your heart still
roll the stone back up the hill
so the stone returns to the valley
you aim it at your enemy

-o0o-

Vessel

I would gladly hold you
for tonight
be keeper of your sorrow
hold your tears till tomorrow
guard you against the bitter night
that would have us

Just for now
to hold
to warm us from the cold
to love
a tryst for the evening
something simple

I'll be your vessel
for tonight
whisper in your ear
tell you stories of tomorrow
and the good times
and the summer sun

-o0o-

Upload

having left this to the last minute
I find myself sitting here
furiously willing the data
to swim upstream
so I can get going
damned fish will never swim directly

-o0o-

Agoraphobia

I really can't stand large groups.
I want to crawl out of my mouth,
and run away naked,
so my body is there dealing with it,
and I can be alone,
up a tree,
eating someone's cat.

-o0o-

An Ode to Fatphobia

Fuck your gluten free bread and your protein shake.

Fuck your fat free milk and skim yogurt.

Fuck your fad diets that kill my kin.

Fuck your bro cohorts that kill my kin.

Fuck your cartoons that show fat people as evil.

Fuck your cartoons that show evil people as fat.

Fuck your, "I didn't mean it that way."

Fuck your, "I'm not a bigot my brother is fat."

Fuck your, "skinny tastes like..."

Your skinny tastes like being an arsehole and I've eaten a few in my time.

Fuck your concern with my sex life while I fuck your father.

Fuck your fetishisation.

Fuck your cisheteronormative sexualization of my body.

Fuck your dismissal of my body.

Fuck your ableism.

Fuck your classism.

Fuck your white veganism.

Fuck your moral parading.

Fuck you as if you know.

Fuck your willful ignorance.

Fuck your, "I don't think fat people should work in the airline industry."

Fuck your, "I'm only saying this because."

Fuck your epidemics.

Fuck your twisted statistics.

Fuck your alarmist newspapers.

Fuck your unsolicited advice.

Fuck your assumption at my life.

Fuck your erasure of my actual struggles.

Fuck your privilege and entitlement.

Fuck your opinion and fuck your concern.

Fuck your pretence at my health.

Fuck your pretence at your good will.

Fuck your tears.

Fuck your, "but..."

Fuck you.

Fuck the horse you rode in on.

Nevermind, I ate that too.

-o0o-

Upon Receiving Bad News

The Lady sat at her table,

her skin cold, dress teal,

frost forming around every finger,

as she sipped.

She smiled, waiting,

her dinner came,

and all eyes were on her.

She ate alone.

She waited all night,

as a bloody man entered,

confronted by the maître d',

he was bleeding out.

A fingersnap,

windows and glasses burst.

Some eardrums too.

-as the bloody man,

stepping over the writhing body of the gatekeeper,

stood before his lady.

"My Queen," he said.

"My Hierophant," she said.

"I come with what you seek."

He kneeled, still bleeding,

as she leaned towards him,

a single kiss.

A flurry of light and he was gone.

"That is unfortunate news," she said.

She opened her purse,

retrieved a fortune,

and placed it upon her table.

The maître d' stumbled towards her,

and before he could speak a word,

she had sprouted wings,

like a crysanthemum in bloom.

"The money, for your efforts."

His eyes flared seeing the money,

but she was gone by the time he looked her way again.

-o0o-

Unpack

Take yourself to pieces.

Unpack each piece.

Put it outside of yourself,

and you will be empty.

Then take each piece,

look at it,

see if it belongs.

If it doesn't throw it away.

If it belongs put it back,

but carefully,

and this time,

the right way up.

Still yet we might find our flaws.

Still yet we might heal them.

Each day,

unpack each part.

Each day,

remake yourself in your best image.

-o0o-

Strangers.

he was upset with me

called me a freak

said that freaks like me belong in cages

locked up away

away

far away

he screamed the words through tears

because he so desperately wanted

what I had

so desperately wanted to do

what I could

but I couldn't allow him

to get away with what he did

so I left him there

forcing him to come back

on his own

with his own feet

so when he crossed the threshold

he came back having forgotten

and he smiled

and greeted me

as if we were strangers

-o0o-

Saint of Stories

kitten tells a story
of a long time ago
when they played in fields
fields made of green glass
and the wind sang
and she would run her fingers
over the oval pipes
and the earth would sing to her
hail kitten
saint of stories
she who sings like heaven
that the choirs of angels weep
hail kitten
saint of stories
she who sings like heaven
that the choirs of angels weep

-o0o-

Hope

headlong into a furnace
with the promise that we'd be stronger for it
and we're ashes and crushed bones
and nothing to show for our suffering
curtailed lives and hopes
we've grown into something
unexpected
we rose from the ashes
as monsters to the smiths
they who put us into the flames
they didn't know what hit them

-o0o-

She Wears The Jewellery That I Make

a trove of silver for my heart's sake

the gems I form and bake

deep in my gut, formed by my very soul's quake

she wears the jewellery that I make

she wears my tears like a crown

and she performs each smile, each grimace, each frown

like a prima ballerina resplendent in a pearly gown

spun around as she goes about town

the men catcall, tell her to perform

but she's lightning, a raging storm

she's the rain that comes down swift and warm

each movement a hornet's swarm

and she dances like the devil's there

a kick, a turn, a flounce, a flare

today wrapped in silk, tomorrow bare

she's your lover, manager, lawyer, au pair

so she'd shine like Eos with saffron wings

I gave her shoes my own heart strings

and tied her dress with mountain springs

and bound her hair with golden rings

I gave what no one else could take

each a song I sang for her own sake

that men would bow and beg and shake

she wears the jewellery that I make

-o0o-

Lift

she's here in a flash

with her hand strong

crashing through

the broken glass

to hold me up

to hold me when I cry

to hold me safe

in troubled times

and she smiles

faintly

from the other side of the mirror

-o0o-

Sir

I haven't slept,
And a busy day stands tapping his foot,
Like a teacher expecting a report,
On a book I haven't read.
Sorry, sir.
I need more time to prepare.
Time to eat a night,
So I can stand a morning.

-o0o-

Ring

Ring. Ring. Ring.
The old bell that calls me home.
Ring the bell that cracks the day into pieces.
Ring the hour in which all are cordoned and shepherded,
pushed through doors like hourglass sand, and the withered hand cannot hold.
The children do as children are told,
bend or break,
and break they often do.
As I have daily.
Ring the ears of bad advice,
tinnitus and trite maxims that serve neither hungry nor wretched,
but master is looking good as he rings his dinner bell.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Call the reaper.
Burn the fields.
Start again.
There is nothing here.
Nothing left.
Rats have eaten everything.
And we are strangers in forgotten places.
How we lost ourselves in self hate.
Pretending to be men,
so we might be worthy to beg for scraps.
And days have become a manic seesaw of here there everywhere,
outrageous joy followed by this hollow of sorrow,
Around. Around. Around again.
Driven into the ground a corkskrew,
and off pops the head of another sibling.
When might I be next.
Will there be singing at my day?
I don't know.
I wish I could say I cared.

-o0o-

Over

I'm tired of good.
The things of ought and should.
I'm settling for good enough right now.
I've carried a frown and sweat on my brow,
for so long that they've carved valleys into me.
I lie brittle as a hollow tree.
Tears and sweat bring nothing but thirst.
So for a moment - me first.
Me first.

-o0o-

Abyss

I wrote a thousand names on your skin
each a praise worthy of gods
I crowned you lord and saviour
with words older than either of us
but you didn't understand
so the words faded on your skin
like scars
and my words were a forgotten breath
and I was forgotten
an old relic in the mouth of the abyss

-o0o-

Body Politic

body politic in a nation of one

a play in three acts

act one

where a child wakes up into life

with their lands invaded

by entitled abusive hands that

to this day

are entitled to my sovereignty

with words like

"honour your father"

act two

in which I am a resistant force

in my own body

punished for being self

where the uniform of conscription is male

and the invading empire prevails

with slogans like

"under this roof"

act three

in which independence is tenuous

but the emperor is gone

and the propaganda remains

bruises and scars

alongside

insults and abuse

with my borders

still rebuilding after a long war

epilogue

my cities are shining a bit more now

my streets are femme

and the houses purple

there is scaffolding everywhere

but rebuilding is slow

and sometimes painful

-o0o-

Apologia from a Bigot

"I'm sorry 'sir'...

I know you'd prefer,

some pronoun other than him or her."

"But I self-appoint,

my self annoint,

myself judge and barrister."

"Convenient, yes?

Comfort to my laziness,

to strip you of name and dress."

"In the end, you see,

it's all about me,

I don't say these things to oppress."

-o0o-