Tag Archives: mourning

Post the Ninety-Second or I

I

Don’t know

What it is like

To die but

I

Know

What it is like

To live with

Grace

My hand trembles

As I hold this blood

Soaked pen

Blood like rivers

Flow from the tip

Of my shores

Shoring up

The weak

Parts of self

I

Remember my sisters

Cradle them in my palm

Between lines and fingers

Charting the course

Through which I

Blaze

Like life

I

Am

Still alive

Despite statistics

My body crossed

With intersections of death

Living

Life

They will not

Claim me

Today

Will not

Find

My body strewn

Like so much offal

Across the pavement

Will not

Mark the way

I move

For death

I

Mean to survive

To live, love

And thrive

I

Mean to show

Everyone

What it is like

To hustle

In a brown trans body

I

Mean to materialize

A life

That is

Abundantly

Full of familia

Love

Comfort

The softness that

Goddess has

To offer


I

don’t need

To assimilate

don’t need

Your “marriage equality”

Your white picket fence

2.5 children

I don’t need

Your lie

Because

I want justice

Justice for my sisters

Justice for myself

Justice for all of the people

Marginalized by life

Justice that does not involve

Police brutality

I want to bring

My ancestors back

From the dead

And raze this world

To the ground

So that it can

Rise anew

Like a Phoenix

Reborn

I

Plan to keep

Drawing breath

I

Know how quick

Life can go

Blink

And you miss

It.

Blink

And you’re dead

But until then

I will feel

My heart pump

Vitality to limbs

My lungs breathe

Joy to heart

My mind thinking

Spirit to life

I

Am

Alive

And I am

Gonna

Live it

Up

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Post the Seventy-Fifth or Where do I begin?

Where do I begin?

The soft folds of her body

&

The fierce fire of her eyes

Are a good place

I remember what she said

That distant fall morning

“Don’t get lost”

My heart is a warren

Of old hurts

And new triumphs

The walls

Are the pink rosy gold

Color

Of hardship

The rooms

Are filled with the faces

Of those that I love

Like radiant, shining beacons

Beacons that light the way forward

The rooms are filled with memories

That I would rather forget

Her head lay on the ground

Very much detached from her body

She looks at me with reproachful eyes

Almost as if

It was my fault

As if

I could some how prevented

Her murder

How dare I remain alive

When she was dead?

It is the responsibility of the living

To bury the dead

But

It is the dead

Who must remind the living

Life is short

Where do I begin?