sometimes i forget you’re deaf--- yeah I know, my voice sometimes sounds like yours, but remember you’re seeing my cameo appearance

sign language gives me the ability to see what you feel, the nuances that makes you, you, and hopefully you see that in me too.

my eyes trace the curl of your lips, the lifts of your cheekbones, the crinkles of your eyes, Not because you’re pretty (tho Im sure you think you are), not because I'm creepy, but because it’s my method of carrying on conversations. In your eyes are where I find your words, the verity on your cheeks, the tone on your lips.

Seeing as I can do that, DO...YOOOUU...STILLL...NEEEED...TOOO...TAALLK....LIIKKEE...THIISS­? **** NO. Over-enunciation is a thing and I don’t need that *******. I’m deaf, not dumb.

When people ask me, “Did you hear that?!”......HAHAHAHAHHA

There’s also that moment when you can’t distinguish whether your mom’s yelling at you cuz she mad or cuz you can’t hear

One of the best moments ever is like when I turn on my hearing aids and I’m waiting, like I get this start-up music, like windows pc, right? And like whammo! It’s Claritin-HEAR.

That awkward moment when you’ve asked someone to repeat 4 times and you still don’t understand what they said... :/

Calling on the phone. Let me see if I can get you to visualize this:
Ring Ring. Picks up
Hello, may I know whom I’m speaking to?
-Yes, this ---- Im here to talk about---. Is-----ome?
What, can you repeat that?
-Yes of cou--- to talk about---
Wait, Wait. Hold on, let me get my sister.
-Why? It's not---
Here you go.
*Done with conversation

I’ve got other examples: there’s the African accent of my family and friends from Africa. There’s the too quiet, can’t possibly speak louder than a whisper, there’s the too fast for my shirt. There’s the simple phone call from the dispatcher/sales person...There’s too much confusion on both ends and frustration when people on the other end must think you’re rude for wasting their time. I just got to the point that I would sometimes ignore phone calls because I’m not in the mood to embarrass myself not hearing anything they say.

Buzzfeed. I love Buzzfeed. I love gossip. Buzzfeed is important gossip. Buzzfeed seems to be becoming more accessible to the D/HH community. I can watch it with accurate, in sync captions. It’s great. But for some reason, I can’t hear the video and read the captions at the same time. Puzzling. To me, you’re saying either I hear, or don’t hear. Either/or, your topics are all in the gray, yet I can only be deaf or hearing you say?

I’m in between, your words I need to see, the sounds I need to feel, the residual hearing gives me a taste of the message you want to convey to me.

Thank you technology for granting me access. Thank you humanity for blurring my view. Thank you Youtube for “speech-to-text” captions. It’s a work in progress that seems to work 0% of the time. Smart t.v.s and their hi def and their apps and music. It's so smart that the moment the HDMI cord marks the moment of completion, they never considered the hi def to to be as important as the captions are to the deaf. Sharp, pixelated images has nothing to do with the ability to hear. So Im sitting here, watching my smart tv without the captions wondering if they will ever understand the difference

Deaf and dumb. You’re either/or. Like the reason you didn’t understand can’t be attributed to the lack of paying attention. What’s wrong with you, you deaf or dumb? It's an oft-uttered phrase. Its a subliminal stereotype that bites me. The fact that it's in the same line as dumb, you gotta put let us know what you mean. You’re so deep in your conversation, like we’re not stuck in the dark ages. You didn’t mean that, yet it faze me. Everybody’s fighting back stereotypes, mine just happen to be a “melting ***.”
You’re so pretty for a black girl,
You’re so pretty for a deaf girl.
You’re so smart for a girl,
you run so fast for a girl.
You talk so good for a deaf girl,
you talk so white for for a black girl.
Yeah, I heard you. Inaudible. Selective hearing has its perks.

I’m offended that you’re offended by my lack of attention. Of my rudeness. Oh you’re doing me a favor? Sorry, I didn’t hear you. Whisper in my ear when I ask you to repeat----hello, Deaf here?
Yell to make up for my understanding----louder doesn’t mean clearer. Even talking to me in the dark, don’t even try  that. You’re blocking my sensory input.

Second-guessing:
-did my phone go off?
-did someone call my name? It’s too risky finding out, continues walking
-is my music too loud? Yes, no, maybe so? Yea? No music then
-home alone: what sound is that? My breathing, the wind, someone opening the door in the basement, never-mind that, I can’t hear it anyways.
-Is mom mad yelling or am I dreaming her voice...
-ice cream truck. Nuff Said

Who is the real deaf
The one who can't hear through their ears
or through their hearts

Kyra is a painter, but she's colorblind.

She makes someone else's world colorful but hers is grey.

Whenever she draws in the middle of spring afternoon, she tends to whispers to the singing bird on her shoulder.

"For whom I draw still hasn't been decided, and I wish to meet my muse soon after the season's end."

Two days after spring.

She's being asked to attend her friend's rehearsal.

A pair of her brown eyes is glued to the pianist as his melody hits her right. His fingers gracefully dance in tuts, faster than anyone's breathe, but not so fast compared to Kyra's hand sketching him.

"I find my muse." She whispers in happiness. Gaze falls to the quick sketch on her hand.


She asks her friend about his name, eyes sparkles with love, so pure, so honest.

"His name is Will. He's special like you."

Her brows furrow in confusion as she skips a heartbeat.

"Special? Like me?"

"He's a pianist but he's deaf."

My eye is never satisfied;
My ear is never filled...
By the beauty of a mountainside,
Or songs that give me chills

Every sight – a hollow view,
I look for more and more
Every sound – an empty cue,
Nothing to answer for
---
My eye is never satisfied;
My ear is never filled...
Ten thousand times I must have cried,
Then smiled – lied – with skill

Everything I see today
Will be, tomorrow, gone
Every sound will fade away –
A shrill inside a yawn
---
My eye is never satisfied;
My ear is never filled...
Does Meaning ever coincide
With life, and hope, and thrill?

I dream this dream, within a dream –
No substance, light, or power
I sing this song, without a sound –
My voice, the wind, devours
---
My eye is never satisfied;
My ear is never filled...
I might as well be groping blind,
Deafened – senses killed

I long to see that final sight
And hear that final word,
To show me Something in this night,
And assure me that I’ve Heard
---
But…

Maybe, I never, seeing, See
And never, hearing, Hear
Because the problem is IN ME:
This heart of death and drear...

This heart, it must be satisfied;
This heart, it must be filled!
For, we all see from deep inside;
The heart always distills...

.

"Toda la noche hago la noche. Toda la noche escribo. Palabra por palabra yo escribo la noche"
-Extracción de la piedra de la locura, de Alejandra Pizarnik

La luna riela en las olas de los gemidos de mi viento.

La noche se torna amarga en el nacer del día
pues su muerte llena al corazón solitario de alegría.

Alejandra y yo escribimos mejor por la noche,
para la noche,
en la noche.

Alejandra ya no está con nosotros pero su noche es eterna en mi dicha.

Podríamos haber sido amigas,
compartir alguna noche;
pero la muerte nos separa,
su muerte,
su noche.
Este es un canto a las almas perdidas en la noche.
En nuestra noche.
La noche mía y de Pizarnik y de tantos otros.
Espero verte
al
nacer
el día.

//

"All night I make the night. All night I write it. Word for word I write the night."
-Extracting the stone of madness, by Alejandra Pizarnik.

The moon shimmers on the waves of the moans of mi wind.

The night is turned bitter at the birth of day
for its death fills the lonely heart with joy.

Alejandra and I write better at night,
for the night,
in the night.

Alejandra is no longer with us but her night is endless in my joy.

We could have been friends,
sharing some night;
but death does us part,
her death,
her night.
This is a song for the souls lost in the night.
In our night.
This my night, and Pizarnik's and son many others'.
I hope to see you
at
the birth
of day.