Being versus Becoming

Imagery of poets screaming into microphones. Telling the stories of the time they heard the warnings of dangers that lie ahead.

I now remember summertime. One text, one time to show you my horrible communication skills. A new friend gained with the newness of Spring. Months went by. I can’t catch how long on the sundial. Days and shadows got longer, but I still could spend every moment with you. I rise from my coffin and the sunlight doesn’t burn and I wish I knew then what I know now, but I am glad I didn’t. I am glad that I was able to be buried under the weight of a significant other. Signing my name in their skin and not calling it alien. Though we alienated ourself from this world, the cave we lived in together felt like extra terrain crafted from our hands. We sheltered each other understanding the significance of being extra terrestrial beings. The significance of being. The difference between what we want to be and what we were becoming. I only wish that you could come with me.

I became another poet screaming into the microphone about ripping a lover from my chest and it tears me apart knowing Adam and Eve couldn’t be if Eve remained a rib.

Mother’s Day

It took a little inspiration mostly looking at other writers I look up to, bumping trap music, and doing the usual mother’s day type family things. I went through the day today, and I took everything in. Not because I went to church this morning, or because I am in the process of being thankful (mindful) of everything around me. I took everything in because these types of holidays cause my head to spin and hyper-awareness sets in, though I never ask for it to. When it sets in, I find that I am actually thankful.

Today I spoke with my lover and friend who has had a rocky relationship with their mother for their whole life, trying not to mention that it was in fact Mother’s Day. As we texted back and forth discussing Twitter trolls and music regular conversations in our two-man circle I ran across more than a few quotes celebrating individuals who have grown beyond having the typical mother child relationship.

“and to the children

who grew up motherless,

who found the strength to become

both the lotus and the gardener

of their own hearts.

Happy mother’s day to you.”

-pavana (Mazadohta)

This one mainly stuck out to me. Mainly because I wonder what justifies a mother. Where is the line that separates the women who birth children from the mothers of this world. We have all come from a woman, yet we do not all have mothers.

Today I saw my friend continue to swallow his pride to reach out to his mother, to celebrate her after everything. Then, I remembered the times where I my mother or father or someone close to me hurt me, and I remembered what forgiveness looked like. Forgiveness is not about accepting apologies. It is the deep breath in and the exhale. It is about feeling human because being human is the thing that connects us all.

At the core of it, I feel like this whole day is worth celebrating so we can remember how human we all really are. Mothers, and women who birth humans have impacted all of our lives in some way. Shit, most the female authors that inspire me are mothers themselves. I am surrounded by both women who birth and mothers and neither needs to be discredited.

I commend the women who have children because I learn more and more everyday how hard that shit really is. I commend the people whose mothers have left scares because I see everyday how hard that shit is as well. Thank you all for growing, thank you all for trying, and thank you all for being human.

Muse

 

“Muse” by Asya Fields aka ‘Rumination’

My heart seems to constantly be drawn to your wave.

I’ve crashed against the shore many times and I no longer feel safe

-I wanna feel safe.

I wanna know that what I plant will be rooted in place.

 

Your water became too much.

 

We know water can get heavy.

Though I carried not a much lighter load when you met me.

Your job was to protect me.

 

Am I a fool for thinking I need to be protected?

We aren’t objects and I won’t objectify

-I say your brokenness made me feel rejected

 

What is love?

 

I still can’t define it for us.

I still can’t find it for us.

I still can’t build it for us.

 

Behind us is a story we’d call love if we told it.

We realized that we carry cases full of shit.

We realized we want someone to help us hold it.

 

If you up root your weeds to see your garden more clearly,

If you ask if I have the strength to carry,

If we tend to our grass.

 

Your waves can crash into my shore.

Your waves can replenish my soul.

Grumpy

Wake up

The sun peeks into the room barely

The scent of dried pickles circles the atmosphere

Why she takes the smell away

Suddenly, I smell roses                no lilac

For a second I forget that I have to get up

The clock says 8 am, but my body aches like

Its 4 am and I groggy like a baby whose sleep

Was just disrupted, but I can’t cry

That’s not acceptable in our society

I have to get up

I have to continue living day by day

I have to not care whether or not I want to

Or don’t want to

I have to fake it

Finally

With the leap of faith it usually takes someone to plummet to their death

I get out of bed why

I can feel the throbbing below my waste I’ve never gotten used to it

The draw strap on Hanes tucks it away

Comfortable

My aching body scurries to the bathroom sink

Mirroring nothing near to a reflection

Eye are mirrors

Mirrors are eye they see everything

My daily routine

Daily

Weekly

Monthly

Annually where is my paycheck

I should have one of those jobs

It reads

It reads, $11.75/ per hour never ending

I drop toothpaste on my chest

She’s still sound asleep in bed lucky

I recall choosing this life long ago in undergrad now grad

Now my pants don’t fit anymore my gut pokes out of all of dress shirts

That one button at the apex can never be closed

She turns in the bed and mumbles in her sleep

What is she saying?

I have no idea but I’m sure her breath smells like caramelized unions

She the top of my heart

And I have it

The reason I continue to go where I hate

It’s her

I become jealous of her freedom

She wants picnics at brunch and long weekends

The sun naturally kisses her skin and she glows

She’s the time I looked into the bulb of a lamp

Trying to figure it out never did

She’s my cold coffee

I wake up and I sit at that desk

I give tours

I make friends

I do whatever

I have to do for her, us

I wake up

Epiphany

There are a lot of words people use to describe Christianity

There is a birth, a cross, a God, a resurrection, a spirit for the lost

This is not the sum of the story but people add in their marks

They scribble their ideas in pen and come back to correct their mistakes.

They change the storyline

Never changing the narrator

Always claiming Him as creator

I change my mind as a christian

As if drawing lines is the mission

Making either or the condition

Falling in line with only your tradition

I see it more than one way

Perspective should change the things that I say

It has changed the way that I pray

But you say it’s not good enough

This journey is tough

But my mental is screaming enough is enough

Can I get more water in my cup

Running over has stopped and I’m calling your bluff

You the humans you lie to my face

Taking divinity and comparing it to human race

First the color of my skin

But let’s not focus on race

On a mission to save face

Then who I love is a disgrace

White girl clinches her mace

Searching for protection from the blackness

Who will protect her from the black man’s

Power

Yell power power from Trump tower

Looking at me is like looking fear in the face

You marvel at your success

Mine has limited access

Talking to me is something you check off a list

You have no desire to love

The warmth of love feels brisk

Your whiteness is above

My blackness is below

You put us 6 ft deep because you’ll stoop that low

So much effort to erase the blacks

The invisible LGBTQ and women attacks

Holding up a sign don’t mean you got my back

Where are the Christians who remember the cross

Who know that my Jesus was an other-including black

That God is big and makes up for what we lack

Where are the Christians that got my back

The cross you burned for my people’s death

You hide behind the wealth

You shot my brother for not wearing a belt

If I say I can’t catch my breath

I can’t call for help

But still

I will post this on my blog

There I safely etch in all my disbelief

Maybe one day you’ll talk to me

Maybe one day my passions will be worthy

Maybe the God I serve will have believers who believe in me.

Maybe this whole thing is just an epiphany

I am for God and I am for people knowing God. That’s all God wants.

The End of a Drought on the 5th of December 

How can I explain my certainty that the rain falls for you.

That the tears you cry not only free the rivers inside of you

but, bring life.

How can I explain that a God so big can command gentle waters

Forcing everyone to pause to meet you where you are.

The same puddles that are absolutely annoying come from the need to replenish after a drought.

The same God that left you barren

Gives life one tear at a time.