A little bit of CrrN mixed with more

 You left your fingerprints on my heart

and no matter what I do I can't

seem to wash them off.

I can't count

how many times

I've tried to leave

you behind since 

you left me.

I've tried escaping

to faraway lands to try

to find another you, but

I carry my stained heart

with me.  I carry your

fingerprints with me.

I've washed in others'

oceans but they're just

deserts next to you, and

I need water.

Maybe I cannot

remember the last time

you left my arms, but

I still see you walking

away like it was 

yesterday.  I'm convinced

you spend less than

second thoughts on me

even though I somehow

cannot find the escape

door from these

feelings, this tactile

emotion.

How will I ever

find something like

that?  Someone like

you?

Rosé Noir

Remember when you reached for my hand in the dark and the world around us fell apart?  Remember when the shadows didn't envelop us in their brazen arms?

Now I'm just holding onto this loneliness clumped in a ball of wrinkled papers.  They're not even notes we wrote each other.  They're the crumpled pieces of potential that I wasted between dreams.  I slept so long that I forgot how to daydream, or its use was lost in the burning embers.

Now there's a war between us and I never even heard your declaration.  I just wanted to hold you in that place where the glow burns from the inside.  You know I'm at least a romantic, but sometimes I get lost in the semantics of it all.  The forest is made of trees and I can't stop comparing the birches with the oaks and the cedars with the aspens.  I can't see your initials in the tree we carved anymore.  Perhaps it's just ashes now, and you're not a phoenix, not for me anyway.

I burned that letter you into my chest and now I can't see anyone else like that.  So I walk aimlessly through this timeline where the gear is stuck on the speed of life.  My dreams are just a substitution for a warm or weighted blanket.  The pen and paper require a certain posture that my scoliosis is incapable of maintaining for prolonged periods.  So instead I fall into disrepair and don't know the number of a reliable mechanic.  Even if I did, he would likely be outside my network.

Ni modo.  I guess the world will keep spinning and I'll keep trying to keep my balance.  It's harder to fall if I'm grabbing one ear with my right hand and extending my other arm out to steady myself.

Maybe she's outside somewhere and these padded walls aren't just pillows.  Wake me up!

Abolition (The Compassion Manifesto Pt. 1)

 Maybe I am radical.  Maybe I have let these ideas imbed themselves somewhere deep inside my consciousness, but is that such a bad thing?  It seems increasingly likely that the world's brain has been washed "clean."  Like the gardener has neglected to till the soil for some time now.  All these systems are built on oppression and keeping others down, whether that was their explicit or intended purpose or not is the present concern.  It's the undoing, the stripping down, and the deconstructing that needs to occur to create space for rebuilding, renewing, and healing.

This is not a manifesto on destruction or finding new ways to vilify each other.  It's not defining "our" colors so in the spotlight so that "your" and regulating your colors to the shadows in the process.  It's creating a more just society, a place where we all have equal voice, where we do not have to step on others just to be heard.  Simultaneously this is not a place where we aim to erase anyone's ancestors.  The history means something, as do the future and present-day.

If our aim was to erase the oppression of the past our journey would be endless; and while the work must continue and there must be consistent revisiting for this system to equitably provide, our platform cannot begin or end with the erasure of systems.  The past is a dreadful place, I think many of us can admit that even if times were simpler for some, prices may have been reasonable for some, and resources appeared to be limitless for some.  It is a deceitful lie to gaze into the window of time gone by with rose-colored glasses.  Similarly, just dreaming of future utopias without taking meaningful steps in the present is next to futile.

There must be places for forgiveness first.  There must be room for grace, compassion, forgiveness, and mercy for humankind.  We banish everything that is not built from a place of compassion first.  Banish them not to an exiled land in someone else's backyard that we will never visit, but from a breathing existence.  I understand that there is much value to be found in many systems, policies, and procedures.  However, until we allow ourselves and our neighbors to scrap the untrue, to remove the toxic fear, and to truly eliminate injustice, no one will be truly free.

When no one is free, we are just fooling ourselves into thinking that we have some real sense of self-determination.  No matter how transparent the fishing line may be that is holding us up, it will remain there until we have the courage to cut ourselves loose.  And some of us may not be able to cut loose the strings ourselves, truly we all need each other.  This will take time, and along the way some of us cutting strings may do so only to tie new ones, but those are precisely the moments where we need each other.  It's about interdependence, not self-reliance.  It's community, not individual strength.  It's accountability and transparency, not blind obedience.  And finally, it is collective unity through shared power, not the mystification of the powers of a few.

This cannot be an individual journey.  This cannot be a radical notion scrawled on a bathroom door somewhere.  It has to be the conscience of the people or it will be nothing.  And it has to be visited and revisited over and over again.  If it is a brief moment in time, a phase of awakening, an age of renewal, it will be just another paper system doomed to destruction.  This has to be the beginning of it all, a place where new begets new and change begets change so as to bring about something meaningful and sustainable.  Something solid though simultaneously moldable.  When the foam on the coffee has lost its color, scrape it off and pour something new.

Scar Tissue

You did your job.  You killed the kid inside me.  The little boy playing in the shadows with the scar on his belly.  You did it.  I know that’s not what you wanted to do.  I know I could never tell this to you, but something about it feels real enough to be true.  Something about it resonates in this space.

What was life like for that little boy?  Where did he turn when the words reaching back were like locked windows?  As I’ve grown older, I’ve learned to see who I am in different ways.  I’ve learned who I am, who I was, and some of who I can be.  I’ve had to strip some of the trauma from my back like a bandage holding my soul together.  Some of the people that were previously closest to me have been pushed aside to make room for me to find who I am.

Something wonders if I’ve had to erase parts of me to get to the true layers beneath.  And there is doubt inside, doubt on both sides really.  Like, who am I if that part of me was just several projections built by others?  And on the other end, who have I been these last 10 years if not myself?

So yeah, maybe you killed the little boy inside, but a man is growing out from his shell.  These days there’s not much that I’m proud of, the wind sort of blows me back and forth, up and down.  A small mistake can take a big toll, a simple gesture can make a huge difference.  The depression can be kept at bay for the most part, but there is little to fill the void that it leaves behind.

Lately I’m grasping at straws with the hopes that someone will help me find the right one.  “I’m willing to share some more with you if you have time” or “Let’s find a way to collaborate.”  Not much has accumulated from it yet, but I’m younger than I give myself credit for.  Maybe Mexico is closer than a pipe dream, maybe I’m falling into something that I can’t see, something good.

Mostly ghostly questions

 It’s been a while, but what is normal anymore?  All the melancholy and deeply steeped despair we held before is nothing like the apocalypse we live in these days.  We hope would have thought we’d be here back then?

When I was a boy, I wanted to be a man, and now that I’m grown, I long for youth again.  I guess it’s true what they say, youth indeed is wasted on the young.  And me, the one who needs company, the one who could use a chair so that someone would push him, I’m the one that’s out here lost in the wild.  How could I let myself be tricked into this?  How could I succumb to this?  Did I succumb to this?  Didn’t I elect to do this on my own?

On my own.  On my own again.  There it is.  Here I am and there they are, the screams on the other side of the wall.  Screaming inside my chest, something wants out but my arms aren’t long enough to reach to where you are.

Why does my heart do this?  We never were anything, we never had anything.  So why does my heart reach for something that was never there?  Where does all of this longing come from?  Every time I see another one gone (paired up) I’m a wreck.  Every call that goes unanswered.  Every time you never say “no” because you’re afraid of how I’ll respond.

It’s more than a few men and they’ve ruined it for us all.  It’s more than a few men and I understand why you’re afraid.  I wish you could just say “no” so I know.  I wish I could hear something back.  There is a gap, a void where you could be but I don’t know if that’s where you should go.  I don’t know where you belong, but your nobody’s property.  It’s okay to be afraid, I just wish I could hold onto that for you.

Everything I do in this little gap in the wall.  Everything I do in this exposed brick of a chest is futile.  Do you see the aesthetic of my upper body?  Do you see who I’ve become?  Like a shadow on the wall that you walk by.  A shadow speaking with no response.  Am I a phantom to you?  Am I a catfish you left out in the sun to dry?

Who am I telling this to?  Why are you listening?  Why isn’t there an audience to any of this?  Just whispers, My words are barely audible, but you hear them.  Why don’t you respond?  Who will help me find something to plug this soul into?

A little equity and More than Just Plus Signs (+)s

 It can't be just a buzzword.  It has to be more than a trend.  We can't be a people who just use our words for our own selfish "likes" and comments.  We need action beyond a screen.  Our sisters and brothers are literally dying.  No, I am not using that word in the recent trendy fashion; I mean what I say.

I can't stand to witness my the death and defamation of my family members.  I'm pulled into the story because our chords are connected.  I cannot swipe past it and try to pretend that it's not happening.  Even if I did, I cannot claim ignorance.  That is not ignorance, that's indifference.  That's numbing.  That's wishful thinking that maybe I'll forget about it and can go about my day.  That's privilege veiled under the mask of indifference.  I cannot abandon my own kin.

And you are my kin.  You are my brother.  You are my sister.  We are in this together.  Victim.  Perpetrator.  Mother.  Father.  We are in this together.  We cannot keep painting with such thick brushes and hope that magically things will get better some day.  Small stones create many ripples.  Sure, large rocks make a big splash and if that's what you have then do it, but if all you have are pebbles then make the most of them.

Please do not give in to the selfishness that tries to tell you that your greed is something to be celebrated.  And you too, don't let those liars convince you that taking time for yourself is selfish.  We all need our own time.  We all need different things at different times.  As I like to say, "we have different relationships with different people for different reasons."  It's okay to be in a different place than those around you.  It's normal.

Speaking of normal, that's okay too.  It's perfectly normal to be imperfectly weird.  There is no problem with being a little mundane or ordinary.  You don't have to do something extraordinary to prove your meaning.  Don't you know that your being here is already so significant?  How fortunate the world is to have someone just like you!  How lucky are those who get to surround themselves with you!

And you, in the back, by yourself.  You too!  No, you're not going unnoticed.  Nor are we here to call you out.  We just want to say we see you too.  We know you need your alone time too and we respect that.  We celebrate you for having the courage to lean into that.  People may have tried to call you out for that at different points in your life, saying you're too shy or timid, but you know yourself better than that.

You're not too shy, you're just as you were meant to be in this moment.  There may be moments when you need to push yourself to jump out of your comfort zone before it becomes complacency, but that's not always you and that's okay.  The world needs your quiet, your soft-spoken absorption of your surroundings.  Even when you're not talking, we know your wheels are still turning.  Your silence does not mean you are absent.  On the contrary, there are moments when you are more present than the rest of us as you soak in all your surroundings.  Thank you for setting such a profound example for us about what healthy boundaries can look like!

To all the rest, or no, to all of you.  Something good can still be coming.  We were the generation of potential, but we haven't lost it yet.  We're still creating our world.  Everyday we're creating the world we want.  These little ripples feel so shallow sometimes.  This sliver of hope often feels like despair, but we can make it.

So

until next time

don't let the fear

of the unknown

keep you from

curiosity and

        being

known.

Uppercase Space

I thought I left you in the background somewhere.  I thought you were the one that even if I returned to we'd never be.  I guess I was wrong.  I thought I left you in the recesses of my mind, somewhere I'd never find you.  So then why do I go looking for you.  Why do I look for hidden love and profound emotions in a place where the strings have been cut, or perhaps burned at both ends?

I see you in the distance and then feel the feathers on my fickle heart.  "Let go," I tell it.  "Let go, so you won't fall deep into the great despair again."  But it cannot hear me among the shouts for connection and something true and firm to hold onto.  I'm wasted or wasting this life again.  I'm living in the place between moments once more, these capital or uppercase spaces.  I'm somewhere between the there and then and can't rely on myself to put me back together again.

Sure Humpty Dumpty fell, but it wasn't up to him to place all the pieces back where they belong.  There was no way for him to fix himself.  An egg cannot reach his legs, let alone learn to glue his fragile shell together.  That's me; a fragile shell with some sort of yolk inside sloshing around.

Mindful moments for me are about living in the present and really feeling it.  Living in this uppercase space means learning to emphasize the here and now and nothing.  It means everything is now, everything is here.  There is no "What will tomorrow bring?" or "I could have done so much more."  No, there is only this, here, and now.

I've made it through everything up to this point I guess one could say, but what does that even mean?  How does any of this work?  How does any of it even begin to make sense?  I don't want to numb myself to get by.  I don't want to fall asleep so I don't cry.  And I don't want to find somewhere to plug myself in just to abandon the thoughts (the truth?) of who I am.  I am still exploring everything here, although the discovery is such a slow process.  With all the tasks and chores ahead of me, I find myself in a mental paralysis unable to move forward or make headway on anything that matters.  I'm a doorframe; just step right through me and go about your life.

"Next.."