Their Voices

​Where is the voice of my
Ancestors on my tongue?

Without their words
I lose their stories,
I lose their lessons,
I lose their pain.

Without their words
Future generations
Have no context to their
Past, present and future.

Without their words
I am an outsider
To my own culture,
And I am disowned.

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Poetry

You are something else.
With one word you pierce
Through the armor
I’ve built up for years.  

You force my eyes open
So my ego can see,
Even though I hurt,
I am loved, whole and alive.

The rhythm of your syllables,
Sweet whispers and
Caresses of love, 
Take me back home.

Piercing

They tell me I’m pretty,
Then walk away.
They don’t give a damn
About what I have to say.

All that I am is a face
To smile & agree.
“Your soul’s ambitions
Are of no consequence to me.”

I will not be a doll
No opinions, painted face.
So I pierce my flesh
Embracing how good it tastes.

They will need to look
Deep into my heart,
Past their vanity and old
Ways that society has forgot.

My piercing, my expression,
I can finally be free.
My voice is here to stay
Fuck how I “should” be.

Don’t We Know?

You are loved.
You are important.
You are beautiful.

You are whole
And don’t need anyone
To fill you up.

You are intelligent
And have a voice
That should not be suppressed.

You are not property.
You do not have to do anything
To please another.

Your skin is gorgeous
And your body is
perfect just as it is.

You are not “emotional”,
You are a human being
With a precious gift to feel.

You can ask for help.
It is not a sign of weakness
But a source of strength.

Your thoughts are not silly.
How you see the world
Is completely unique to you.

You can love yourself.

Panic Attack

Stress is a dangerous monster,
It builds slowly, silently. 
You have to make everyone else happy, 
Keep the status quo. 
But odd symptoms of the body 
Open the window to the monster inside. 
And you ignore it. 
There’s nothing wrong, 
Don’t be so sensitive, it’s life. 
However the smallest puncture
Of the balloon that is your emotions, 
Explode into a fury on the body, 
Uncontrollable, frightening, suffocating. 
What’s happening to me, 
What is this? You say. 
But deep down inside you know,
You are overwhelmed. 
So many changes and worries
You can do nothing about, 
Except to find an escape
So you can breathe in air again.

Tattoo

Dirt on my hands, 
I’m stained, tattooed by the earth. 
I am the earth;
Evolved from and will die within. 
My preconceptions gone, 
I am dirty and I love it.

Tainted

Life is subjective.
How can we understand the reality,
Devoid of emotion and memories,
When our eyes are blind to what is?

The perception of circumstances,
Tainted by life.
Subtle layers collecting like dust,
Unseen year after year.

How can we make clear decisions,
When all we can grasp
Is a thread of the tapestry?
Life is finite.

Me

I am flawed. 
I want to love myself more 
And speak up, instead
Of being ashamed.

My thoughts are important 
And deserve to be heard. 
My dreams are important 
And deserve action.

Feeling sad or mad is
Nothing to hide. 
In this moment
We are all loved.

Tell me really
What’s wrong? 
I am here to
Listen.

Me & LSP

I call my stomach LSP, that’s
Lumpy Space Princess by the way.
For the most part we have a good
Relationship, until she becomes a problem.

Our quarrels tend to occur
When I want to wear those jeans.
The infamous jeans that
Only fit on a good day.

We fight back and forth,
But reach the same conclusion.
LSP, triumphant in victory,
Leaving me broken and alone.

I slowly pull my life back together and
She’s out of my mind for a time.
Until, once again, she’s in a bad mood
To engage in our ongoing struggle.