Like a bone graft you
were unknown, unexpected.
I think I'll accept.
I think I'll accept.
July 20, 2017
July 8, 2017
"Oh Man."
The way my name rolls off the tip of your tongue
is a siren's call of ignorance and otherness
and frankly a whole lot of strange...
If I am running, it is not that I ran
but that I am fearful of your fear of her body, her hijab.
If I somehow racked up points to justify
the betrayal of, "but no, where are you really from?"
it is not that he racks, but that we don't know how...
We just don't know how to place this on some shelf,
a conversation tabled for a more appropriate time
or what you're really trying to say is country, right?
Oh man, is she angry now but you don't know the depth
to my anxiety over my Pakistani family's safety.
Oh man, is she angry now but you don't know the depth
to my anxiety over the racism of the family that
looks like me, talks like me, but speaks a foreign language
of "you're not welcome here" and "get out of my country."
As if it is theirs and they didn't steal it from someone else
through the harm of others, through their dull ignorance.
The next time you dare to roll syllables and names
off the piercing tip of a poisoned tongue
do it correctly, oh man, and say Oman.
and frankly a whole lot of strange...
If I am running, it is not that I ran
but that I am fearful of your fear of her body, her hijab.
If I somehow racked up points to justify
the betrayal of, "but no, where are you really from?"
it is not that he racks, but that we don't know how...
We just don't know how to place this on some shelf,
a conversation tabled for a more appropriate time
or what you're really trying to say is country, right?
Oh man, is she angry now but you don't know the depth
to my anxiety over my Pakistani family's safety.
Oh man, is she angry now but you don't know the depth
to my anxiety over the racism of the family that
looks like me, talks like me, but speaks a foreign language
of "you're not welcome here" and "get out of my country."
As if it is theirs and they didn't steal it from someone else
through the harm of others, through their dull ignorance.
The next time you dare to roll syllables and names
off the piercing tip of a poisoned tongue
do it correctly, oh man, and say Oman.
July 7, 2017
"I Got Nothing."
My world has been gray for as long as I can remember.
Vibrant shades of the warmth of a wolf's fur,
the comfort of the front passenger seat,
the cool tile underneath nights of tequila, tequila, tequila
and borderlands between ultimatums that
were as sharp and dizzying as houndstooth
But the grays I experience now are different...
But the grays I experience now are different...
They're angry and LOUD and tease away at
my confidence, competence, consciousness.
It's like I'm drowning while still inhaling
... in through your nose, out through your mouth...
but the mantra doesn't protect me from
an invisible monster whose name I do not know.
In between grays, there are vibrant shards.
They slice away at the fog and glitter beyond my reach.
The Brown pieces remind me of family, of bonds
that do not break even under the pressure of time.
The blues pieces embrace me, console me, challenge me.
They're complex in that they're silent in their kindness and love.
The yellow pieces are sheer energy and sunlight,
a field of one thousand mammoth sunflowers yearning for the sky.
And the green ones? They're from me to me, I saved them
for moments in time like this, my shield and my sword.
Rainbows are born from the strength of thunder.
They're born from the danger in lightning and
the framework of prisms applied to tears.
It may all be black and white at the end of the day,
but without the grays and the rainbows, I got nothing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)