chronologies
of all the men I okcupided
you were the one\who stuck
out
like a sore thumb
or a marked difference
it wasn’t your voracious
or kinky appetite
every page has them, hidden in multiple choices
it wasn’t your feminist tinged
misogyny
reversable clothing of a sheep-wolf
or stoic-damage-burned-at-the-stake-man-who-needs-love-and-hates-love
everymen.
what was
it?
you reminded me of songs I ever listened to, especially 2 years before I ran away from home when I was 12 or 13 at Blimpies on Montague street
every pang that electrified my body from then til forever
and when I go back to memories you are in them even though you weren’t there.
there was a time we wore clothes
for you
time
clothes
or danced for you
said words you wanted to hear
that was so easy to do and not know we were doing that
or what we were doing
or where
where words were the ones that came out the ones you wanted
where clothes were the ones you imagined
a flight
a fancy
a finger
Ugly voices
I want to hear the ugly voices
The ones the world tries to cover up
The ones too afraid to be heard
The ones they say aren’t good enough
I want to hear the ugly voices
Ring out loud and true
Burst forth your rambling chortles
Sing out your imperfect tune
The others may not catch your beauty
In the imbalance of your sound
But there’s a truth that’s long been missing
In their sculpted falsettos found
I want to hear your ugly voices
Thought broken beyond repair
Lines wrought with heartbreak
Verses rife with despair
Let us move to your fractured songs
Lament and sorrowful
The tones that hurt our ears
And make us uncomfortable
There is an army rising up
An awakening at hand
To face the raging apathy
That has overtaken our land
No more ice cold hearts
Open up our closed ears
No more "everything is fine"
Gasped between our tears
Our sorrow must be recognized
If we ever want to be healed
But it requires a brand new courage
Or our fate is forever sealed
To be "just okay"
To slip between the cracks
To deaden our hopes and dreams
Steal a future we won't get back
We must face our open wounds
Shift our eyes to the broken
Reach out to the crippled
Hear the words softly spoken
That beg for a new vision
Of a life yet to come
That is full of joy and wonder
That thinks us not yet done
Your story matters
It's the only way we know
How to propel you forward
Show the places you can go
If you're willing to give up
The chains round your neck
The shackles about your fists
The past holding you back
Every tear, every fear
Every insecurity
Every doubt you sing out
Shines a light inside of me
To hear a melody like mine
Full of trauma and regret
A song of understanding
Beginning to be met
By a chorus of sons and daughters
Once too afraid to be heard
Now realizing they're not alone
Seeing the power of their word
To heal a hurting nation
From wounds that go so deep
Boldly pray out loud
My soul now to keep
A generation finding hope
A world rising up
Discovering their worth
Believing they are enough
All because you bravely sang
Of a life out of tune
So rise up your ugly voices
The world needs to hear you
gods slit wrist
He smiled for the occlusive nightmare and she at him.
If God dropped the veil once in a while, it somehow ran through my mother.
Even though I am slower than other folks, I can tell you that if Daddy believes that things are moving behind the scenes and mamma sees em too. I mean what-the-fuck…Man, these things are making them worse…not better. I heard once god meant good orderly direction, maybe, but which direction?
Inside of the pain management clinic Momma wagged a smidgen more than usual.
“Feet pue tan, mi amor”
Mama don’t cuss. Never would.
I loved lines like that. The whole lot of us lived on that line.
There wasn’t ever gonna be any money from Momma's Momma and she was startlingly not shamed by her lie. Heretics. Small feet kicked at a Fanta Orange. Katy-Rob couldn’t be sure if they was black or dirty so she looked up a bit. Confusing who was proper and who wasn’t. She’d heard some ministers ministerin’ on keeping birds with birds and cows with cows.
She wanted to scratch when she itched but she never did.
Mama has some history attached to it but she only showed us the peeking corners and dirty obscurities.
Momma stole books and burned them after ‘eating’ them. She’d whisper that it felt like eating anyway. She’d say this every time. Perhaps these were only time she wasn’t listing. Momma believed in divine winds. She wouldn’t ever fight em. She wanted a hero, so bad. Her favorites were the ones who died at the end. Nothing confusing about that.
Katy-Rob they called her. Daddy called Momma pretentious. Or pretty contentious. It was one of the only times she looked at him with love. I magine she thought it witty. I know I did. After that look she went on to the pharmacy and Daddy went to buy tickets. I caught up to her looking real intent on some new tennis shoes on this dude with a Cat hat n’ those damn sequined jeans.
Know when you gaze up and on a thing…cher, you change it?
I know that mama.
Oh youre so erudite, you.
What?
Momma was Acadian and though she was supposed to be so smart she talked just like everyone else, cept kinda dumber for that couy’on shit. In every picture I every saw of her she was showing her long white teeth, like she was trying to sell something. Later I came to see she was trying to prove to the world she wasn’t poor.
Id seen Mama do some sketchy shit, some wicked shit…one time she rented Grady out for 3 months. Stabbed a girl in Germantown outside a Memphis because she was too high. In the heat of demon attack mama looked sinistral, eyes seemed almost all black and shadows moved about her profile like they was alive. Face would be all fucked up. I hated looking at her like that. You just wanted to put yourself inbetween her and that.