I put the goldfish out of it's misery today
My family was upset
Because I
killed
their fish
They say it like I committed the worst possible deed
They say it like
death
is the most miserable end
What they don't understand is endings aren't miserable.
What comes before them is.
I'm not the one dumped it in a tank.
Who made crude faces
as it swam into walls
who tapped on the glass to laugh
as it tried to flee its own water--
But everyone has their blindspots.
Fishes in fish tanks is one of yours,
mother, father, brother.
But I still wonder,
where was your outrage that night when I told you his
words pushed
me into the tsunami like
"I like your size, girl.
Where are you going tonight,
hey I'm talking to you, *****
do you understand what it feels like to feel someone's eyes degrade you?
To smell their intentions.
Do you know what it's like to want nothing more than a scalpel
to cut out your body inside and out.
Here is my pretty face which you like some much,
here are my legs that you at which you claw
here are my organs which you wish to own so badly
here, I will cut them out for you
you can have
as long as they’re not still a part of me--
They dumped me in a tank
They were tapping on the glass,
they made crude faces as I stumbled into their walls.
How miserable do you think I was?
How badly do you think I wanted it to end?
But what did you tell me? Father, brother, mother?
That I shouldn't have gone down that street in the first place.
Everyone has their points of outrage,
for you it is fish out fish tanks or girls out of their determined streets.
but if I ever gain a sister
I think
maybe
she will understand
why
I put the goldfish
out of its misery.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 8:50 PM UTC
It was just a wall
they were just kids
writing “freedom”
but those words delivered an invitation
to test what that meant
It was a tipping point
in the struggle to understand
the breathing pattern
of liberation
and freedom
they soon understood that first comes an exhalation
jubilee
the ecstasy of that introductory spark
Maybe soon there will be fireworks--
inhale.
one
long
inhale
swallowing the spark whole
I wonder if they understood when
they pulled off their fingernails
when they tore flesh
when they burned cigarettes
on their skin
when they drove them into the cold and blackness
This inhale has not been released
creating a vacuum
of fear
explosions writing
2 years of war
more than 70,000 dead
1,000 children
80,000 displaced
if you looked up
just once
you would see
Sleeping Beauty
the little girl, so restful she seemed
if you don’t ask how she died
if you looked at her hands, her hair, her face
and refused to look away
If you lengthened your drifting attention span
you would see her
and us
children,
in the cold and blackness
Learning to breathe again after watching our best friend being shot
or cousin tortured
this repetition doesn’t make anything easier
this infinity of sorrow
doesn’t shrink the farther you venture on
and as you watch this supposed infinity
through a screen
do not cease to be in content
with its vastness
I know what infinity feels like
and it is heavy
the bruises on my back
are noble
and I do believe my own children will one day tell of them
with pride on their tongues
but I cannot balance this weight
on backbone alone
they have burned my flesh
they have charred my heart
but I know the difference between
machine guns
and open palms clawing at the stars
they can come at me a million times
but someone will take my place
and hundreds will take theirs
because their smoke can only clear
but our flame has been born within us
We are candles in the sky
no matter how hard you blow
you cannot win
our flame will
not
die.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 9:57 PM UTC
Their mouths are
gaping wide and cavernous
hungry
needy
watering
eyes bloodshot and open against their will
they need a fix to their addiction
they don't have time for predictions
only answers
give them their answers so they can can sleep tight
tonight
they lost their blanket, their stuffed bear, their mommy to kiss them goodnight long ago
they wake up screeching in the dark from nightmares of gray deserts
where no one is there to tell them if it's night or day
now all they have are their answers
to which questions
they don't know
don't care
they haven't got the time
their lives must compete with one another
their mouths must inhale old, stuffed, oatmeal air
with their bloodshot eyes wet from the dry air
can you hear their hollow voices
muttering and sleepwalking their regurgitated, responses
to anonymous questions
their retorts slowly getting louder and louder
till you can't tell one answer from the other
their lives are competing with one another
answers are yelped at the top of their throats
they lose their voices so often nowadays
so often, they must rest with their
mouths gaping wide and cavernous
hungry
needy
watering
eyes bloodshot and open against their will
they need a fix to their addiction
refusing to think about the day
when the questions
drip, drip, drip, drip
away.
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC