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.

Call and Response

Perhaps,

we should love ourselves 

so fiercely, 

that when others see us

they know exactly

how it should be.

~ Rudy Francisco ~

Perhaps, 

if we loved each other

so fiercely, 

when others see us, 

they believe exactly 

how it could be done.

~                       ~

ngl. I burst out in tears at the

thought of stepping back

into everything today / 

tomorrow. stepping back

into spaces where practicing

consent and boundaries

feels so overwhelming. 

stepping back into the less

visible work, the care work, 

the after-care work the work

that isn't glorified and sexy. 

stepping back into naming

the quiet part out loud, 

rooted in hope that people

genuinely want something

more well and more whole

than all of this. rooted in

anger of the violence many

have inherited. stepping

back into feeling like people

only value me for

unwavering strength, like my 

vulnerability and humanity

are often afterthoughts.

this last week I practiced 

stepping in. stepping into a 

partnership with someone 

who lives their values, 

beyond the chants beyond 

the marches. stepping into

being perceived through the

lens of radical love. stepping

into every day care, nature's 

shades of green, and birds

who warn each other of

storms ahead. stepping into

softness, into the reason

why I keep stepping back in.

خانہ بدوش

خانہ بدوش

"Coming to Urdu from Farsi, ‘khaana badosh’ quite literally translates to describe people who carry their home on their shoulders (Khana = home and Dosh = shoulder), like nomads and gypsies moving from place to place." 

(Words in Urdu, 2021)

when you carry home on your shoulders

when you carry home on your shoulders

when you carry home on your shoulders

when you want to go home

when you carry home on your shoulders

when you spend a lifetime refining your core, not

because whiteness said your soft belly was a 

weakness, but to support your spine in sitting

straighter, standing taller than you're supposed to

when you carry home on your shoulders

when you know home as the deep breaths you take

to gather yourself in-between moments

when you carry home on your shoulders

when you carry home on your shoulders

when you carry home on your shoulders

when you carry home on your shoulders

the people and spaces where you can set down 

the home you carry on your shoulders

that is where you go in life when you want to go

home.

خانہ بدوش