Unwanted
she told me she had to write
a let of recommendation
for her friend
to adopt from China
in 1989
she had to leave out
that her friend was a lesbian
which was forbidden
meaning she was unsuitable
I wonder what was
more unwanted
a baby girl when
the biological parents
craved only sons
or the adoptive mother’s shame
for being gay
waiting for a child
that won’t care either way
Pride
What does Pride month mean to me?
To the average straight cis-male like me it might not mean much. However, to me, it is a time to appreciate and accept all those who are different. Men can love men. Women can love women. Those questioning their gender identity should be able to express themselves how they want to and feel comfortable with it. No one should take it away.
As for me, I stand with them, waving a rainbow flag in one hand while the other grasps their free hand.
Happy Pride Month, Prose!
#Pride #PrideMonth #lgbt #loveislove
A False Premise
Black mothers are
three times more likely to die in childbirth than white women
Black mothers are
five times more likely to die from pregnancy-related disorders
For black mothers,
abortion is about saving lives not ending them
A ban on abortion means
more death for black women - the rate will rise by a third
A ban on abortion means
more death for poor women,
Who seek unsafe ways to save themselves
To "die trying" becomes a gruesome reality
There is no sense of poetry here.
When women are treated merely as vessels
Criminalized, brutalized, marginalized
We cannot begin to consider the value of "lives" lost
When we do not value the ones already living
Black mothers may have abortions at higher rates
But that's not due to some moral failing
At least not on their part - this racist nation is to blame
These women, often poor, the game stacked against them
Lack access to healthcare that should be a right
As their schools teach abstinence if anything at all
If you think Black Lives Matter,
focus on the human beings here now
Instead of clumps of cells and some imagined future
The reality is they were saved
From a world that doesn't want them
This country hates women,
the black and brown ones the most.
who are we to say what matters?
instead of forcing our subjective beliefs down each other's throats,
why not let the mothers, the only ones who know
the heavy weight of this choice
make the choice
do you think it's harder for you, a bystander,
than it is for the mother cutting a piece from her body?
if she has decided this is what's necessary
who am I to say no?
who are you?
Lost In Arrival
Women across the world suffer from decisions that they have to make.
From moving out of an abusive relationship to hoping "It's just a stomach ache".
We are not perfect and life is hard without us.
When that child is born, it's "mom" they always trust.
Dad can run and start over if it seems to be wrong. But women have to endure it their whole life long. Yes, All lives matter. No matter their breed or color. But if a woman was raped, please have sympathy for the mother. Because what you fail to realize, and I have been told so many times...is when that baby is born, THEIR face is HIS face embedded in their minds. Having to re-live that pain through the love you have for your child, is a hell presented with roses, served on a hot plate but mild. So again I say, it's a decision that a women have to make. Is it fair for the child that started as a stomach ache?
Not our place to judge
Reading through the posts, I see a lot of talk about homosexuality and God. Yes, the Bible says that it's an abomination. But NOWHERE does it say that God will reject you for it. It's a sin, yes. So is cursing, coveting, overeating, smoking, sex outside of marriage, and believe it or not fellas, when you pull out and "spill your seed upon the ground". Many many things are a sin. That's why Jesus came, to wash those sins away. Being gay doesn't mean there is a seat reserved in hell for you. And anyone preaching hell and damnation to you needs to go back and read his Bible again!
As for telling a true christian, we humans can't. It's not our place. Only God knows what is in someone's heart.
Is ‘Real or Fake’ a True Question?
It is not uncommon for people in general to have an idea of how others should live, and have it be quite different from their own life. Christian or not, every human on this Earth can have a tendency to put their expectations of themselves onto others, or point out the things they dislike about themselves in others.
This to me, means, every human has to look into themselves to 'find salvation' or whatever term for finding faith some humans want to use. Those who have the audacity to explain your faith is 'incorrect' probably believe that to be true for themselves more than they do for you, even if they cannot admit it to themselves. I think anyone who has enough faith in themselves will stand strong to their belief systems, and that includes myself.
I know that my faith is correct for me at this very moment in my life, and no one, of any religion or faith will have anything to say that will falter my confidence in myself. To finish, I believe in myself enough to have little to no thought on other humans beliefs, fake or real. It is not my place to project my own faith onto others by saying theirs is right, wrong, real, or fake, because if they believe deeply enough, it won't be about proving they are right to others.
Act I
Turn the carpet
into a bed of stars. Rest your feet
in the cosmos, swirl the galaxies
gently.
Whisper more dance
into the universe. Turn the sun violet
in the thirty minutes before dawn
& give colors voices
to sing with.
Run ladders down from the clouds,
build peaceful villages
we can climb to
when things become too much
way down here.
Remind the world
of its gentleness. Set one truly magic moment
within every day
where every creature
is taken breathless by beauty.
Turn dreaming
into sharper reality. Give all of the poet souls
ways to make life from their art
the same way
their art makes life
from marks upon pages.
Save the young souls
growing backwards. Show them a crystal ball
in which life blooms
once more. Heal
with one touch
of hope & kindness. Breathe future
back into this place. Breathe wonder
back into this place.
Breathe wonder
back into this place.
Lunatics
Like any isolated, only child left to their own devices, I have always had an active imagination. My parents were too busy creating the life they wanted as children to know all that life provided me with was fear. I was terrified of how differently I felt beside anyone else, and how easily everyone else could point it out, but never quite explain. If I let myself be known, I knew some day, someone would come to take me away. Keeping to myself was the only way to stay safe.
Until my mother got her driver’s license, we spent the occasional weekend with my father. Even there it was the same. Most time was spent at my grandmother’s absorbing everything I could from her maroon encyclopedia set with spines of pearl. At night, staring out of her kitchen window, I pondered how many others thought the moon was hungrily eyeing its next meal.
Not me. I repeated that to myself every time I caught that hungry stare. Not me. As long as I kept it all inside, whatever was waiting would never reach me.
At least, so I thought until my mother started driving. The moon would rise high above the leaning, cramped houses so that I was clearly in its sights. I hurried to the car as it began its nightly chase while we sped through the winding streets. It stopped when we did, letting itself be known at heights above all else. Every night I huddled in the darkest corner just outside of its reach, repeating my mantra.
“Not me.”
Those must have been the words that kept it at bay for so long, but one day I mysteriously awoke without a voice. Beside myself, I ran to my parents who looked at me in confusion.
“What’s wrong?” my mother asked, concerned as she gave me a quick once over. “Do you think it’s his tonsils again?” she got me to open my mouth to check.
In frustration, nothing but tears came as I broke free and escaped down the stairs. Hidden among unused materials under the house, I pressed my hands against my ears while my name boomed in my father’s voice. Drawing in a deep breath in the wake of those waves of thunder, something unfamiliar surged along each hair it left standing. In a blur, I found myself back in my bed upstairs. I blinked and was back beneath the house where I began.
Cartoons taught me well enough to practice my newfound power as much as possible in what little time I had. It was only so long before my pursuer returned, and now that I knew I had been right about myself who knew what it would do. Looking into the darkening sky, I saw the moon perched at a distance in a wicked curve like it was observing my every move. That night instead, that wicked crescent caught up to me and whispered.
“You’ve only tapped into the tiniest inkling of what you’re capable.” it teased. “You could shape universes, or even shake this one if you please.” its grin was audible.
Since then I have practiced crafting life by weaving together its many threads. Beautiful scenes still appear to me whenever I close my eyes; some I have even seen. I have lived so many lives among these pages, and cut so many more short. Here comes the moon again.
