Tag Archives: anger

George gets burned

My young neighbors, George and Gracie. I love them.

My young neighbors, George and Gracie. I love them.

I stepped out my front door into the spring weather with the bite of winter nipping my skin, still hanging on to hope that it will last. George sat shoulder slumped on the concrete wall. He lifted his feet as Pumpkin the ever terrorizing Chihuahua let him know in no uncertain terms what she thought about his morose. As I tugged the yapping pup along beside the tubby pup, George hollered at me, “Mayor? I think I need one of those hugs when you put the dogs back inside.”

I nodded and smiled apologetically as Pumpkin continued her tirade against the world, Piggy chugging along beside her. Duties all done and accounted for, I placed the still overly verbose Pumpkin inside calling for the older canine to come. After a deep breath for some muffling on the shrill bark, I opened my arms and George ran around to accept the hug.

“What pain is on your brain?” I inquired as he broke the hug and dribbled to the ground in his pajama pants.

“We’re going to have to move again.” He explained. “It’ll be cool and all because we’ll have a pond, but I really wish we could stay this time.”

“Why do you have to go?” I asked. “I’m going to really miss you.”

“We can’t pay the rent any more.” He said like it was a litany he’d become accustomed to. It hurt to watch him curl up, knees to chest, tugging his hood over his face.

“What are you doing?” I asked glancing the parking lot to notice a Rent-An-Expensive Couch van pull into the broken parking lot.

“I’m hiding from them.” He said in a hushed tone.

“Why?” I prodded him further. Yes, as an adult, I’m hyper aware of debts, payments, bill collectors, and even rent-expensive-cheap stuff places. I shouldn’t ask because it’s none of my business, but I really like George and Gracie.

“They’re here to take away our couches. My mama said just to let them take the furniture already, but the babysitter won’t do it. We get woke up because they come too early in the morning and we hide so they don’t know we’re there.” He sighed heavily, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “I won’t have a place to sleep if they get in.”

“I’m sorry you’re experiencing that, George. If I could help you, I would. I don’t have any dollars either.” I leaned on my cane and watched the eight-year-old American boy hide his shame.

“Mayor? Can I ask you a question?” He pushed back his hood when the truck started to back out of the parking lot having not retrieved the sofas. I nodded ascent. “What did you mean when you said black lives matter? I’ve never heard a white woman say that before.”

I winced. George has a way of speaking his thoughts and ideas that, quite honestly, I haven’t seen in a child in a very long time. “It means to me that we are all human and should be equal, but we’re not. I protest against those people who want to keep us different because I don’t believe that’s just.”

“People don’t like me.” He confessed. Like a true questioner, I asked, “Why not?”

“Because I’m mixed.” He said pulling his hood back over his face. Then in a voice that is small, nearly broken, very fragile, he shares something so tragic it made me weep. “Sometimes,” He stated ever so softly. “I feel like I’m a mistake. Like I wasn’t meant to be here.” And he covered his face with his hood completely obscuring his beautiful honest face.

I had to breathe deeply because the mixture of anger, sadness, compassion, and longing to ease his suffering were so strong, I got the wellies.

“George, please stand up.” I asked gently. He complied and I took each of his shoulders in my hands and leveled myself with his true green eyes. “I need you to understand something, believe it and feel it deep in your heart, do you understand that?” He nodded so I continued. “You my beautiful perfect human friend are never, no matter what anyone else in this world tells you, are NEVER a mistake. You are a bridge between the two. You are a leader with an extraordinary gift for storytelling. You ARE the future of peace in this world. Do you understand what I mean?” I felt completely intent with my purpose. He looked up at me with such an open comprehension that I felt like I was looking into something way bigger than he or I.

“I understand. But people…” He started to say when I interrupted him.

“People can be nasty, vicious creatures, but so can they be humans who don’t understand the differences. Black lives matter because ALL lives matter. You are so important to me and to your sister and your family. Even if they say hateful words, they always, like me, will love you. Black lives matter, George, because you think I’m better than you because I’m white. I promise you, my beautiful friend, we are equals in spirit. We are equals as physical beings. Just because we have different melanin doesn’t…”

“What’s melanin?” He interrupted me.

“It’s what makes your skin darker than mine and because I have less, I’m more pale than you are.” I explained.

“That’s it? That’s what’s different?” He looked at me incredulously. I nodded my head. “Well that’s just plain stupid.”

“George, my friend, I couldn’t agree with you more. Want a cupcake?”

“After another hug?” He asked, his eyes no longer filled with tears.

“Absolutely. We’ll break bread together.” He grinned back at me as I went and got two applesauce cupcakes topped with green holiday frosting. We sat in the spring sun feeling the icy breeze sharing each others company, heart to heart, spirit to spirit.

Filly Ranch with Fleas

I'm a Seahorse

I’m a Seahorse

There are multitudes of angry words corralled behind her tongue

Waiting anxiously to stampede into the unwary ears of the unforgiven wrangler.

He doesn’t suspect that his lasso of rage would harness responsibility for his neglect.

She is unbridled in her disgust.

She halts without warning, veering suddenly towards the truth.

Although she relishes her saddle for its beautifully intricate design,

she bucks in furious battles against the reason it was placed on her back.

The cowboy remains oblivious to the pain of the branding iron

with which he sears her flesh with his signature as proof of his mortality.

The wrangler arrogantly believes he is bigger, better, stronger than she.

But her spirit hasn’t been broken. Her body is faster, smarter;

more adept at navigating the directional and environmental changes he affords.

She is her own shelter, her own stability, while he is self-oppressed at his hearth.

He is completely entranced and entrenched by his campfire of hatred.

It makes him unaware of her riding away at a full gallop into the sunrise of freedom.

Fighting

ONE, TWO punch

ONE, TWO punch!

I’m being hoodwinked

I’m being mislead from

my firm belief that EVERYthing

matters

It is irrelevant how tattered

my vision becomes or my

failing belief that *I*

can make a difference

that *I* matter

I pick up the tape

and wrap my hands individually

like Halloween candy

Protecting them from

broken fingers

fumbling grasps

Reinforcing my purpose

as if it matters

to ANYone else but me.

I wrap my hands in justice

eliminating foes

with ONE-TWO punches

Powerful with animosity

Strong with furious passion

of faith and

conviction

Does it matter?

Damn right it matters.

It ALL matters

It matters when my eyes

open in the morning

with deep breathing snoring

lovers wrapped up warm

against my ample body

It DOES matter when

I grab my fists from the floor

where I carelessly threw them

after another violent day

of fighting

for what matters.

It doesn’t phase me

to hear the onslaught

of rage streaming

silently from his lips

second thing in the morning.

It doesn’t occur to me

to let him remain split

into shards of himself

It doesn’t push me

But it pulls me

yanks me

spanks me

drags me

slams me

punches me

infects me

bashes me

beats me

thrashes me

It pummels my beliefs,

stomps and screams

tantrums LOUDLY

FURIOUSLY

But I take it because

it matters. It all

matters

I tape up my hands individually

like pocket tissues

cd’s

candy promises

of sweet

sweet

returns

My taped hands protect

them from

broken fingers

fumbling grasps

reinforcing my purpose

with paladin-like

integrity

honesty

all in perpetuity

all into discarded

thoughts of coffee ground fantasies.

It’s all good.

It’s all real.

It all matters.

*I* matter. THIS matters.

A short chess match

Destruction, Chaos, Change

Destruction, Chaos, Change

An imposter has landed

Call out the hounds

Pursue the deception

The betrayal of sounds

Call up the sentries

Alert all the guards

Let not the invader

skulk in our yard.

Silence the voice

their vows are all broken

revile the cursed breath

revere victory spoken

The reign of blood

Stop the Hate

Stop the Hate

I ride with my brothers and sisters of all races and creeds;

To rear up their own steeds in unified protest;

To ride the momentum of waves of grief

Heeding the cries of mothers for their stricken children

Comforting tears of fathers for their lost legacy

We beg our inheritance returned from the barrels

Of the guns, drugs, and forced disintegration of segregation

Of caged familial relationships in the name of

Law enforcement in a police state.

Oh, Lady Justice! Raise your blindfold!

We beckon you to turn your marble eyes

Towards those who insult your intention!

We call out in solidarity for your scales

To balance the inequality that takes our skin

And uses it against our fellow Americans;

Our future! Our could-have-beens:

Strong leaders, bold teachers, smart cookies, fast learners,

Good parents, good people, good workers, good earners

Had they not been vilified by unjust practices

My blood, as theirs, is caught in the web of deception

Colored every nuance of brown, every color of tarnished brass.

You’ve stolen my generation’s heirlooms

Away from the breathing world

Crammed them into the darkest days of greatest sin,

The murder of my brethren; their only “crime” is having more melanin.

Blundering Buffoon

I’m not ready to put a stone on the places we’ve been before

But your sanctimonious bullshit is throwing up on my floor

I pride myself on tolerance of those less fortunate than I

But sir, you’re mentally unsound with your barking madness cries

With every judgment you utter, I cringe from every lie

And under your false pretenses, that plank in your eye for an eye

Is pissing me off and removing my guilt and my shame

By pointing three fingers back at you with histrionic blame.

Cut the shit you ridiculous twit and educate yourself

Take your head out of your ass and bear the cross yourself

Faminism is Veruca

Faminism: (FAM-ih-ni-sum) (v.) 1. The act of removing food from the mouths of children. 2. The denial of women’s rights. 3. The active practice of both.

I want to lie to the children and tell them that the world is just

To stir up their hopes so that they will do all the things that they must

To believe in fantastical things like freedom, fairness, and truth

To discard the notion of fairy tales, of ghouls, and monsters uncouth

I want to lie to the children and tell them they’re not good enough

To shackle their hands to their desks until they’ve conformed rebuffed

To fill them full of nonsense more farfetched than any tale

To forget how to think while I fill wretchedness into our jails

I want to lie to the children and tell them their thoughts do not matter

To crash against their defenses until they’re all ragged and tattered

To consume massive amounts with terrible amounts of great greed

To spend their gold on stuff they’ll never use or ever need

I want to lie to the children telling them that pride is the greatest

To crush any challengers to authority, remove evidence of any progress

To take away their beds and hide them in empty foreclosed houses

To shred apart their families with four income part time spouses

I want to lie to the children and tell them they’ll not go hungry tonight

To close the door in their faces when they bring their empty-plated plight

To enslave them to the workforce by making them buy the diploma

To be the drone worker bees, church is Monday’s worker’s coma

I want to lie to the children about the content of their character being best

To blindfold their brown eyes with white that makes them brown skin-less

Not to remember that yesterday I protested against their “rights”

To watch blindly the riots in the murderous night.

I want to lie to children and preach how they’re valued and adored

To pay them the cheapest wage I can get away with not what I can afford.

To make them stupid by making teachers responsible for their kids

To tie up the hands of those who mean well in the red tape of “I forbids”

I want to lie to the children and make them wave the American flag like they’re boss

I want their bodies to give their sacrificial wine from their flesh their righteous blood lost

To refuse to keep the promises I made for no despair

To look them in their patriotic eyes and spit on them with lies of “We care”

I want to lie to the children and feed them slogans like “Just Say No!”

I want the underachievers to rebel, five to twenty in prison they’ll go.

To incite the gang wars to give the cops something to do

I NEED to watch the world burn around me, go back to sleep, I’ve much to do.

Not Soon Enough

To be placed in saint’s clothing as if death redeemed

The unresolved battles that forced childhood screams

From the mouths of his children starvation abounds

For the three little words that nary met sound

From his lips that lay silent and poison the earth

From his violent life that began with his birth

There will be no clock hands stopped in his honor

No looking glasses covered now that he’s a goner

There will be no wailing with heartbeats bereft

Absent black cotton gloves like W. H. Auden suggests

No kerchiefs stained with tears to be tucked into pockets

No loving memories or pictures in lockets

No words of compassion for the soul left to cry

That embraced angry notions and turned a blind eye

There are no clothes befitting to cover his bones

He chose life without love. He perished alone.

What clothes shall be placed on the dead deemed unworthy?

While he is yet considered unfit by the clergy.

Is it Running?

Taking the journey of a thousand miles

Begins with a step, like those of a child

Returning to home or breaking one down

Making either world turn upside down

Taking the challenge that long is awaited

Bulldozing through obstacles unabated

Loyalty valiant to some of the house

Struggling for liberty in emotional joust.

What once was a longing, a need, an addiction

Is now a source of painful contradiction.

What one house rejects and claims desire

The other beckons with strength in the sire

What confusion lay in the mind of the child

To remain in chaos, trust long defiled

The raping of faith, knocked down from up high

denied the dreams with nary tears in the eyes

Blame things on everything, never their own

In the mean time, for eons, one stands alone

Time has passed by, much time indeed

When the child understands for them, no need

Abandoned, refused, forgotten, unwanted

Should the journey begin, progress undaunted?

Should the heart set aside the anger and sorrow?

Should the child remember there is always tomorrow?

The escape hatch is opened, standing ajar:

Will the house be destroyed from the will from afar?

Will temptation desecrate the once sacred heart?

Is all that it takes is a short time apart?

Hear the Alarm! Don’t Hit Snooze!

Chapter Two:
I woke up to the sound of a leaf blower screaming outside my window. As I awakened my senses with coffee, the scream of first Wednesday of the Month sirens warned me of what I’d find as election results, but I didn’t understand. I feel so mournful as I think of what was lost yesterday (Thankfully not in the precinct I worked because I still had hope for Tennessee when I went to sleep). I watch, now, the rain drizzle down and my emotions reflect it.

I mourn for the people who have bought propaganda at the discount price that was sold at the dollar general tree. I mourn for those unwanted, unadoptable, hungry, sick, rejected children who will be born into a world that claims ownership but rejects responsibility. I mourn the education of these invisible children because what can’t be seen is clearly absent of life.

I mourn for the uterus that just turned inside out for the world to see but heaven forbid you see a child being fed at the breast of their mother. I mourn for the women who no longer will have a say in what happens to her own body but, in truth, am grateful that my body rejects the rooted seeds so my children will never know that I lived in such a horror movie of a state.

I mourn with my friends and thinking people who are wrenched with grief over the return to a time many of us don’t remember but are grateful to those that do and fought so hard to create a better place that was blown down by the Big Bad Wolf. I mourn in the form of dreaming exodus claiming political asylum in my own country which has returned to Jim Crowe against women and the LGBTQ communities while holding the marquee for next election saying that the brown skinned people don’t matter enough anyway so we’ll eliminate any aid so we can fill our fields with their broken backs and dreams.

I mourn for the prisons being built as plantation houses for the next generation of slaves that this election has purveyed onto the citizens of the United States. I mourn for those souls who are told from their conception that they’re wanted and loved only to be born into a world where those promises are broken. “May as well learn to live with disappointment, sons and daughters, because you ain’t no kin to me.” I mourn for that mentality being accepted as fact.

But most of all, I mourn that so many of my kin, my brothers and sisters of Light, are caught in so much darkness that they’re afraid to shine too brightly. I encourage you, my beautiful friends, to not give up even while the mourning strikes your heart with the righteous shame of indignities served on our hearts, minds, and bodies. Without us, that margin would have been far greater and the obvious ignorance would spill farther into this world.

We are the vessels that contain hope. We are the steps the future MUST take or we, as a free society, will fail. We are the eyes that see the changes that MUST be made. We are the hands that MUST NOT fail to act in the name of justice. We are the voices that MUST be raised repeatedly against ignorance. We are the backs that MUST bear the burden of challenging each defeat with a solid stance of support not only for one another but for those who are and will be victimized by these misguided amendments.

The warnings have blared at us, like my alarm clock of despair outside our window. It’s up to us as a people to determine whether we hit the snooze button on our kin, or whether we rise to the challenge that they’ve again faced and forced upon us. Me, I’ll put on my top hat and rise because without hope, there is no way I will survive.