100,000 Poets for Change Poems, as read by:
PHILOSOPHACTIVIST
Gender Poem 30 years genderqueer and frequently skating the rigid ice separating male and female mostly barefoot. Cursing my frostbitten toes for their betrayal and refusing to protect them by cashing in on often-bought social construction Who would have thought that Coming Out as genderqueer would be one of the hardest things I've ever done in my Life. Not erroneously coming out as a "Lesbian", Writing research papers for institutions, or Going toe-to-toe with professors with different ideologies or Fighting for my colored voice to be heard in a predominantly white classroom. Not standing up for communities of color while taking on chemical plants and the oil industry. Why? Because people can understand those Struggles. But they don't understand that they are caught in the invisible web called the gender binary. Being a lesbian, or an activist, or an advocate
doesn't make me a Freak, But wearing men's clothing and responding to both ma'am and sir and secretly hoping to someday be called by gender neutral pronouns or no pronouns at all makes me a societal reject. A target. The feminists don't understand it. Academic institutions don't get it. The exclusive LGB minus capital T community doesn't understand. I am gender non-conforming, and rather than having this as a banner, or a flagI wear it as a Scarlet Letter. As gender variants we are diseased,abnormal and have a disorder, Chained forever to the DSM IV while other queers have been emancipated. "No surgery for you". "Hormones for you". Waiting for approval...to exist...in the only way we (or is it you) know how with that M...or that F that is required to Be and be left alone. Cutting off foreign parts and adding the familiar, New voice. Scarred bodies. Bound Souls. Waiting...to be validated
by indifferent ink and scalpeled "allies". Usurping our uteruses and traiterous testicles. Maimed martyrs who only ask for the use of the Proper Pronoun. Bruised, Bound Breasts choking away misguided femininity StillYou look for bumps on necks and chest and call that Male- "she", "Ma'am", "Miss" That painted boy skull doused with wig legs shaved and adorned with skirt and stockingsStillyou call her- "him", "sir", "Mister" Killing us inside until we take our lives While you refuse to break out of your false binary, or deconstruct your constructions, Sexing us with your eyes. Brutalizing us with your fists. Knived tongues slicing through our spirits, and all because you won't understand. We are not crazy or disordered
Nor are we diseased and FUCK your balancesystematically weighing out variation And the comfort you obtain from your boxes and labels We are all human. Identify with our humanity. The only thing that is wrong with us genderqueers is our oppression, it's perpetuation, and your parts in it.
Blanketed. Blanketed. Brown. Rebel. Marking "Other". Refusing to be categorized by a solitary color. Ancestors closeted, suffocated, then buried, But you demand that I know them. Dig them up. Bone. By. Bone. Resurrecting an abolished past. So that you can disaffectionately gaze at the displayAcknowledging with a "Yea. I guess I can see it." While distant cousins twisted-faced and cold-shouldered say that I am not one of them. I belong to the intersection of countriesforced to mate during colonialism, to love matches, rape, violence, and indifference. My heritage one of protective hiddenism and forgetfulness Rolling of forked tongues and cold understanding eyes in one syllable "Mutt." But what's in a tragedy?
I don't remember the sounds of Africa, the touch of the islands, the sights of the Old Americas, the smells of India, or the taste of Europe. In this country we must Assimilate. On this surgically clean- white slate. I.Am.Black. And my mother is tight-lipped and accepting. Why dig up the roots of an already felled tree? Assimilate. 1. Drop. At. A. Time. Her deceptive high cheek bones sandy reddish-brown hair. Freckles. Shh. Quiet now. She. is. Black. 1 drop dictates her past. She has since tuned out. Make her dance. Thank her for her stringed performance andforce a bow andtoss her back in her ancestored closet full of noose, drums, and failed uprisings. Rub off the war paint,
extinguish the ceremonial fires with guttered gulf, and flush the henna in the Atlantic. She. is. Just. Black. Speak skin and bone Djembe, dhol, drum caged in rib, I am more than brown skin, coarse hair, and satin pillowed lips, I. am. 5 Kissing Continents Lovers over time Now shy of their former embrace Forbidden exchanges, Five back to backs Cross-armed denying any advances. Until on the 2nd of November, I conjure them, country by country cell by cell to honor them though it is NOT my Holiday Though our roots touch gingerly beneath the soil steeped in forgetfulness and little bits of cloud-colored styrofoam aerate constituents of my soul Root upon root Bark and Branch
my ancestors call to me it wasn't until I left home that I heard their stifled cries, Hearing music from far away lands that my spirit remembers but that I've long forgotten, because of that fateful label "Black." That one syllable leaves me lameblinded but not deaf, An attempted assassination of my multi-colored spirit As I listen to the melodies of my ancestors homelandsI remember...I remember that I am more than mono-colored more than one box ticked absent-mindedly on some sheet of papernot easily categorized and I will NOT jump into your narrow lables to make you feel better, or to make your census make more sense So I cast your blanket to the bedside of 5 shared continents
I fill all your boxes or check "Other" So that you cannot erase my Roots. I snip at my mother's strings and unstitch her beautiful velvet lips, And my spirit soars, as my ancestors all dance togetherdrummingin their circle, UNburied. UNcloseted. and Free.
Mujer Strong as the Backs the colonizers Hoped to break But only bruised To be healed by Mother’s healing Hands Mujer Wise as The plantas Full of remedios That guide la gente to Curas y la espiritualidad Mujer Giving as Our foremothers who Sacrificed safety and security To speak out against injustices Committed against their paisanos, Hermanas, hijas‌gente Mujer Soft as Las flores that Honor the fallen And enrich the soil That nourishes your People Mujer Beautiful as La naturaleza Showing your beauty To only those who Dare pay attention And providing to those Who cultivate your Spirit Mujer Hard as
The Truth And the barren Soil, stripped of what it Should be Awaiting to be nourished And replenished By all that have come to take Mujer Resilient as El rio That reappears During the rains And carves new paths When it is obstructed Mujer Powerful as The golden warrior Sun Inspiring nature into Action Your path on the horizon Revered and charted by Civilizations Mujer Without your womb This world would be barren Without your breasts This world would be malnourished Without your strength The cosmos would collapse This universe is nothing, Nothing Without YOU.
Soothsayer Soil Only the soil knows What I am Capable of A witness of Centuries past The same “soil� That soothed The blistered feet Of my great-great- grandparents Trampled by time And inappreciative first world Inhabitants intellectuals only the earthen clay of my foremothers knows my capacity Diplomas and degrees All shaped from foliage now fettering my future with fake promises Only the dirt that Kissed by the sun birthed edible evolution has any inkling of my hopes and dreams a continuation of the aspirations of many Peoples not meant to survive who now lay unwillingly blanketed by the land they once toiled
Only the soil Holds the answer I’ve searched for For far too long In ivory towers Where it is swept awayA nuisance.
We Exist in between sentences and seconds Words wrongly warp. Punctuation imprisons. Laughable language. Fluctuating. Flawed. Never heeding the heart.
And those morose milliseconds, Moving mainly to make us mourn, our Bliss beyond their belligerence Rejecting the ticking teethmarks of Father Time
We Exist between minutes and moonbeams a Celestial soliloquy Transcending traces of tragedy After hours of outreach
~patience... pausing for pleasure
Is this plausible?
Covalently coexisting Kindred and coalescing as one
...one wonders wandering... off the grid Awakened Cognizant of a mutual source interlacing all Breathing spirit and Light into the sharers of this Earth Our light Luminescent, lunar powered Blinding our frustrations and guiding our peace past shipwrecked islands of despair We Exist between pulses and pendulums Radiant, rhythmic and wrestling the cosmos for a moment to meditate on Usness Concentrating on inner stars illuminating our beings Loving lightPhosphoresence Photons fueling future undulating and oscillating on and on... We Exist between stanzas and line breaks We are works of art our Essence never to be uttered Elusive to the ear Twisting the untrained tongue observers incapable of capturing
This existence... A new, old reality beyond this earth beyond constellations They are but our intertwined beings exploded confettied and strewn across the now vibrant void At the Edge of Existence At the Curb of Consciousness there can be no fallacy Life's essence is the Truth uttered in the silence when your heart beats next to mine when my fingers forage for the silkenness of your thighs And my lips linger lovingly then lunge for the nook of your neck who dares to categorize or hypothesize about the sanctity of our shared existence any syllable is an injustice Only the thunder in my chest when you kiss me can tell the tale of our existence only your jagged breath mid-lovemaking freshly falling on my eardrums my tongue against your earlobe as I ground myself , my hands your anchor, diving deeper into your warm cradle of creation No one can tell of the solar system inside that torches even the
darkest most desolate night of the soul Union Andromeda courting the Milky Way An intergalactic kiss of collision No blackholes exist here Our love cannot consume nor be consumed it is the thread interweaving the fabric of Life its energy the building block of Existence The frequency of our love can change lives heal hearts spark smiles teach and tutor Regardless of untruths, the Struggle, distance, the world... this connection exists and heals... it exists... it exists...
Survivin’
Tired of survivin'/strivin'/ bribin’...you to see my potential/credentials/my mentals/tired of survivin'/strivin'/to stay alive when/some peeps got this privilege/and all I got's my soul to give/never thought about sex work til the economy tanked and went bisserk/became comfortable in my gender/inhabiting spaces/places/you wouldn't wanna be/havin' brown skin and bein' queer/you can't see me/invisible/and divisible/my community -is...tired of survivin'/strivin'/hard to stay alive when...all you ever hope for is to take another breath/that you don't catch your death/no time to worry about cultural theft/bereft/of heritage/society's no longer sparin' kids/so why me? You buyin' beamers a schemer with an HDTV and all I wanna do is breathe/some fresh air/eat food with no toxicity/complicity/you blame us for/but this capitalism is pimpin' you/yep you’re the whore/and ...my people...are...tired of survivin'/strivin'/to stay alive when you got ends and wealth/but we have to live our lives in stealth and assimilate/to keep food on our plate/fork and knife/we get tired of life/strife/ all these signs/the confines/bein' on the grind/ and you can't see the injustice/ of the majority of brown men bein' in the prison system/ and you pushin' for the expansion of 'isms/ DAMN I'm JUST tired…tired of survivin/strivin'/to stay alive when all you can think about is amassin’ wealth and getting’ benefits/when the only benefit I get is grime and grit/and my will to uplift/my people/to awaken sheeple and zombies/but you want to be wearin' abercrombie/and handin' us your truth/ while poisonin' our youth...Man I'ma survive/stay alive/fight with each breath til the day that I die/for justice/and the end to your privilege/and white-given birthright/til the day we all know we're descendants of kings and queens/and our spaces reflect this/til poverty and inequality/we wreck this/check this...you got a powerful enemy...but if you wanna work through this you got a friend in me...cuz we will survive! And with each death we cultivate the will to stay alive/your foot won't be on our neck for long/ we're gonna right all these wrongs/ this isn't rhetorical/or metaphorical/ this sh* is going to end/the patriarchy, xenophobia, homophobia, racism will fall...it's up to us brown folks to pick up the phone ...answer the call/get involved, get this sh* solved..we barely survivin' but without comin' together we can't run...but crawl.
What is Radical? Radical is acceptance, not tolerance. Radical is not some inaccessible knowledge or terminology that is only available to White, upper middle class liberal arts students or dropouts. Radical is when you tell that transboi razor in hand, poised at wrist That he CAN make it through another day Radical is when you smile warmly at that schizophrenic on the sidewalk that is talking To himself and hasn’t eaten in days but spent twenty years in ridiculous wars fighting for the honor of a country that left him battered, bruised and living in alleyways, Radical is when you set aside your politics and pride and bridge the gap between the right and the left, the conservative and the liberal , queer and LGBT, the black and the white, the Pakistani and Indian, South Asian and East Asian, Puerto Rican and Mexican, Jewish and Palestinian, male, female, and genderqueer, young and old, able and disabled so that we can build a better future in which no one is discriminated against because they are “Other” Radical is stepping outside of yourself, your politics, your circle, your lifestyle to be an ally to the person or group that you least expected. Radical is realizing your privilege whether it’s due to race, class or education and using this privilege to empower the marginalized. Radical is when white allies working with doctors so people of color can get the service and treatment they deserve. Radical is adopting and foster parenting children who are stuck in a system that is not equipped for kindness, compassion, or equity. Radical is not only picketing and speaking out but making the connections you need to make in the community to pass policy, change laws, and create movements that will rock this nation to its core and rip open the social fabric built on racism, xenophobia, homophobia and sexism. Radical is knowing the blood, sweat, and tears that go into the produce and products that you’re eating, the clothes that you’re wearing. Radical is knowing and owning your part in the displacement of communities of color i.e. gentrification- whether you are white or a person of color. Radical is being intuitive. Looking around your circle and noticing which voices aren’t present and working to get those voices heard. Radical is when you no longer seek bridges…burn bridges…but build bridges because you realize
that bridges are all we have. Gloria Anzaldua dijĂł “Caminante , no hay puentes, se hace puentes al andarâ€? Translation: Traveler, there are no bridges, one builds them as one walks. Traveler there are no bridges, one builds them as one walks. Traveler there are no bridges, one builds them as one walks. Traveler there are no bridges, one builds them as one walks. Are you radical?