Here is a poem

here is a door,

here is a ladder to climb from low to high,

here is a Houdini trick, a flail of the hands, or a flourish;

here is a stain, a blot test, a Rorschach,

here is something to find meaning in,

something that stands completely separate from the world,

something that you exist in, but could hold with the grip of your life line;

here is a gift, a made thing, from me to you

from one human to another,

from one soul to the next,

across time, space silence bravery;

across dimensions, races languages, mediums:

 here is something that I thought about once;

here is the sound of me clicking a pen to find my mind again, click, click;

here is the answer to why you havent won the lottery yet;

here is your first good kiss,

I wrapped it up in tissue paper,

good kisses should be preserved in tissue paper;

here is a little brass bell,

some people would say that it’s a piece of heaven;

here is a picture of you before puberty,

before you got shy,

before you started wearing makeup;

here is sentence a in the middle of a poem;

here is a reminder:

to those like me, privilege is not something given by God, in fact it is usually taken from those that feel they have lost everything else. Most of them have.

to those not like me, never stop reminding us that this fight is real, there is always a wall going up somewhere. Some of us are too far away to see the bricks.

here is my hand,

it is pale,

it knows only a shadow of hard work,

but it is for you;

here is a little glass bottle filled with my sexuality,

people see what they want to see,

and look at how wonderfully fragile it all is;

here is my resolve:

  • I stand firm in the belief that true art is a war against injustice and what one sees as wrong in the world. I recognize that this may be subjective on certain levels; however, I do not think that real art says nothing.
  • I am a wielder of words facing a chasm, one of millions facing their own chasms many of which may reflect my own.
  • I give to you only what I can spare getting rid of in the hopes of letting go of something that I cannot.
  • Where there is hate, I wish it gone.
  • Where there is disdain, I wish it dissipate;
  • Where there is fear and misunderstanding of another, I wish for open-mindedness and conversation;
  • Where there is a massive abuse of power rooted in blind racism, bigotry, sexism and small mindedness, I wish simply for a reset button.

Here is my soul,

dear reader, you with your thumb on your phone, you with your finger on the page, yo with a beating heart, a pulsing brain, with a body that is unwillingly fulled by the passing of time.



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