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.

AR-15

names rolling around like 

marbles on my tongue

there's no Q for queer in

my phone directory, no V for

this violence or that violence

is a threat to her to his to their

safety. are they alive are they

alive are they alive are they alive

are they alive.

mapping out constellations

of who to text who to call who

to write who to scour social

media to determine last known

point of communication. I 

never predicted a square 

image with white block letters

would be a love language. are

they alive are they alive are

they alive are they alive

are they alive.

since 1982, the majority of 

mass shooters are white. the

majority of mass shooters are men. 

we talk about generational trauma

but what of generational spiritual

desperation? what of those who

are taught violence and hate as

"culture" or "religion" or "politics?"

what of all the times when we

see the signs and choose to 

say nothing. if death is the

outcome, and death is the risk

are we alive.

La Luna

the nightmares persist

but the scales rebalance

towards hope. they say

if you stand by water for

thirty minutes then your

troubles will float away, 

carried off by the tides,

overseen by the moon. last

night she looked so full, but

might not have been. every

time I see her this bold, this

sure of herself, I think back

to that one night in El Salvador

when the dam broke and they

held me. they named the violence, 

and they held me. they gently 

pulled away the bottle, and 

they held me. they shouted my

name in the dark, and they

held me. they found a smooth

edge on a rock on a mountain, 

and they held me.

and for that night, underneath
the moon, I am grateful. for
I've never felt as alone at night since.