from Palestine to Pakistan, rise up for liberation, however you can

when our present becomes "history"⁣⁣    

when future generations look back and ask,

"were you part of the change, or complicit"

when you're asked what actions you took every day

to dismantle racism, anti-Blackness, xenophobia, Islamophobia, anti-semitism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, and ableism

will you feel comfortable then saying you

knew better, "felt badly," yet continued to look the other

way? will you feel justified in your silence, in your

priorities, then? all the times you didn't speak up, 

you didn't act up, will they haunt you?

the disconnect between pockets of people I've

met over the last decade is horrifying, from those

who outright defend white supremacy, to those who

know better and remain silent or disconnected, to

those risking death in their attempts to do anything, 

everything that they can to get free, to get us free.

when our present becomes your "history"

when future generations look back and ask,

"were you part of the change, or complicit"

I hope your response is,

"I did everything, I tried everything."

Masking

I can’t find my box of masks.⁣⁣    

⁣⁣    

thin layers I stretch across my face, safety from viruses invisible, tangible, deadly⁣⁣, their presence marked by⁣⁣ absence. who’s in a space, who⁣⁣’s only whispers of memory⁣⁣ now.⁣⁣    

⁣⁣    

Baba, I miss you more than words⁣⁣, I’m⁣ grateful you moved on before⁣⁣ this time of expedited death. ⁣⁣you were worth so much more⁣⁣ than colonization, than forced⁣⁣ migration, than hueless, empty⁣⁣ shells of calloused peoples whose⁣⁣ understanding of relationship⁣⁣ is domination and power over.⁣⁣    

⁣⁣    

I can’t find my box of masks.⁣⁣    

⁣⁣    

I lost it years ago, before⁣⁣ knowing what was inside.⁣⁣ colorful variations of “it’s fine,”⁣⁣ “it’s not a big deal,” “don’t worry⁣⁣ about it,” don’t worry about it⁣⁣ hurting, I know to tend to my wounds, cut by explanations and excuses⁣⁣.   

⁣⁣    

Baba, thank you for seeing me fully, thank you for the comfort⁣⁣ of shared silence when there was ⁣⁣so much we never got to speak of. I wonder what words you’d have for ⁣⁣survival and strength and joy now.⁣⁣ there are so many questions that⁣⁣ linger, sit loudly and heavy in the air,⁣⁣ I hope to ask you when it’s my ⁣⁣time to rest, I think about ⁣⁣ death, every day. every day, I think about death.   

⁣⁣    

I can’t find my box of masks.⁣⁣    

⁣⁣    

and the tears won’t stop flowing,⁣⁣    

and the tears won’t stop flowing,⁣⁣    

and the tears won’t stop flowing.⁣⁣    

⁣⁣    

Baba, I didn’t consent into this world,⁣⁣ its roots in white supremacy,⁣⁣ its proud trunk of hateful ideologies branching out through targeted violence.⁣⁣ you taught me about educated ⁣⁣ignorance, prepared me for people⁣⁣ crafting sophisticated⁣⁣ ways to justify death and oppression,⁣⁣ souls twisted, contorted into cruelty.⁣⁣ my heritage prepared me for “lizzy’s in⁣⁣ a box,” and so is our stolen culture trapped in institutions and algorithms, goat yoga and chai tea and henna freckles.   

⁣⁣    

Baba, I am overwhelmed and frightened, angry and hopeful, I love and miss you. 

 

I can’t find the thin layers to stretch across my heart, protection from members of the death cult of “whiteness.” 

 

Baba, I can’t find my box of masks.

Traverse

they accused us of importing,⁣⁣

apples⁣⁣

⁣⁣

they accused us of importing ⁣⁣

apples, as all those traveling ⁣⁣

from the “other” do, while they⁣⁣

import violence & death cults⁣⁣

in the name of white supremacy⁣⁣

⁣⁣

they accused us of importing⁣⁣

apples, claimed it wasn’t profiling,⁣⁣

said they keep it fair, rotate ⁣⁣

through peoples as they please⁣⁣

⁣⁣

they accused us of importing⁣⁣

apples, and you know what’s ⁣⁣

funny I just made an apple out⁣⁣

of earth and these two hands⁣⁣

and this heritage born out of ⁣⁣

forced migration, forced famine,⁣⁣

forced resistance and you, you⁣⁣

wouldn’t have caught it because⁣⁣

while you’re secure in violence⁣⁣

me and mines are secured by ⁣⁣

⁣⁣

love⁣⁣

⁣⁣

they accused us of importing⁣⁣

apples, well technically me and⁣⁣

mines curry, but his apples, and⁣⁣

I asked, when’s the last time you⁣⁣

acknowledged your import of⁣⁣

spiritual desperation and screened ⁣⁣

it through x-rays and your mythical ⁣⁣

borders and your appetite for violence⁣⁣

⁣⁣

they accused us of importing⁣⁣

apples, well jokes on you, I ⁣⁣

exported a fruit bowl for a ⁣⁣

⁣⁣

beloved⁣⁣

⁣⁣

made, handled with care across⁣⁣

hearts more expansive than what⁣⁣

you seem to be capable of, and⁣⁣

it should, it should frighten you⁣⁣

because we’re not talking about⁣⁣

apples anymore, we’re talking⁣⁣

about entire orchards of care

⁣⁣

they accused us of importing⁣⁣

apples, because an apple a day⁣⁣

keeps the doctor away and care⁣⁣

and connection are a threat to⁣⁣

their sickly, decaying empire⁣⁣

⁣⁣

they accused us of importing⁣⁣

apples, and little did they know⁣⁣

the radical love we traveled with,⁣⁣

tucked away in every pocket⁣⁣

of our existence on shared earth⁣⁣

⁣⁣

they accused us of importing,⁣⁣

apples⁣⁣

We Were Always Ready for You

"I believe western individualism is killing us. I believe that we shouldn't have to be in romantic love to be cared for." ~ Alok Vaid-Menon

I believe in (im)possible things. 

I believe in the flowers, the birds, the way the moon gently holds me.

I believe that there's nothing more critical than you. Than me. Than us. 

I believe that hope is a muscle. 

I believe that we must rest before we're tired. 

I believe that "love" is four letters in English. 

I believe that love is beyond language. 

I believe in the connectors. 

I believe in the ants, the bees, the way vines build bridges. 

I believe that there's nothing more sacred, more painful than being of everywhere, of nowhere, of the places in between. 

I believe that our universe is expansive. 

I believe in abundance. 

I believe that yaara is as much lover as it's homegirl, in a place, and a space, and a tongue recovering from theft, violence, and imperialism.

I believe that recovery is a process with unknown milestones. 

I believe in life after life after life. 

I believe that if I return as an old tree, maybe, maybe then I'll know what it'd like to feel rooted. 

I believe that air plants grow and stretch despite not knowing their home. 

I believe in anything, everything that isn't this affair and obsession with violence. 

I believe that generational spiritual desperation is real. 

I believe that community care is natural. 

I believe that connectivity will birth us. 

I believe that we should be in love with one another.

content warning suicide

I daydream about Death more

often than I'm allowed to admit.

it's not that she's my ideal type, 

but there is something so alluring
about her eternal rest, about her
mystery, about the hope that a
final breath or not breathing at all 
offers as a contrast to the sticky
sweet poison of this violent society. 

"All 6 trains will be running 
express due to a customer 
injury at Grand Central."

"Please head downstairs."

"Hey how's it going? :)"

not well, I am drowning, and when
I ask for a life raft I'm offered hope
and prayers that never amounted to
much then and never amount to much
now, how is this a fucking life raft?

I cannot be the boat, the buoy, the
stars, and the ocean, I cannot be
like this much longer, I cannot be
like this much longer, I cannot be

I took the 6 to the 4 because of a
customer injury, pressed tight in
between neighbors I may never 
see again, transferred to the W 
that came right on time only for 
the train to roll over a bump, and

I wondered if it was me, this bump, 
travelers more concerned about 
their commute to whatever next
checkpoint of exploitation and pain
awaited them, more concerned about
survival than the passing over of...

I took the 6 to the 4 because of
someone's willingness to sacrifice me, 
and those around them, for what
perceived temporary safety from violence?
knowing that if this bump wasn't me, and

it was you, you yourself wouldn't stop, 
wouldn't pause, wouldn't inquire.
you'd take the 6 to the 4 to the W.
you'd keep yourself safe, because
"we" is only as meaningful as the
applied value of community care.

I daydream about Death more
often than I'm allowed to admit.

it's not that she's my ideal type, 
but there is something so clear
in the safety she offers, about her
values, about the hope that a
final breath or not breathing at all 
offers as a contrast to the sticky
sweet poison of this violent society.