Identity facilitates a lense for which makes us capable of opinions.
Identity is what I've lacked in my attempts to connect with the world.
Identity helps to emphasize with others. To build a community through shared values and beliefs.
I am an earthing I have no identity beyond this.
Who I am has been erased from a lifetime of isomorphism.
Does this erase you to?
To collide the world into one being.
One struggle, sameness to our differences?
Does this erase you?
Culture washed away, clensing my skin.
Scrubbing away at me until I am white.
While cradling my head and whispering mimetic kindness.
Cleansing me of who I could be.
Cleansing me of my ancestors values.
I have been erased.
Just a physical embodiement of what Im allowed to be.
I am human.
Just some raw thoughts on colonization.
"There's this dance
That I've memorised"
Whispers a voice by my side
Pulling me along
Twirling me to her foreside
"Should I show you it?"
The crease between my brows,
Fingers tracing my cheek
Down to my hand
Eyes closed, she pulls me forward
Steps not unfamiliar,
The warmth on my skin
Slowly fades, no more than
A distant memory
The words echo in my ears
Dimming to a loud buzz
"Thank you for the dance."
Light crawls in through the curtains
Stains the floor in shades of yellow & white
Sets pools of obscurity bright
As the sun retires from our sight
Twilight cometh, like one's mind at night
As though her skin was stained porcelain white
She slipped back down from the sky cracked and marred
Though every second of my gaze was wasted
As in her final instance; before departure
She was stained porcelain white
it's pulling me in.
or, i think i am.
the only thing i see
is a white abyss
of terrifying possibilities.
White mask covering your face
A ***** sin you won't erase
It makes everyone think you're clean like a princess
Pretty innocent face in the first place
strange how we can recognize someone
by the shape of their shadows how
the places the light cannot reach tells more
than the places it strikes that
the span of darkness across their throat tells more
about the way they move and the way they feel than the
tear in the eye, suspended, caught on an eyelash, unfalling with the light,
that the empty spaces of white that the shadow doesn't reach tells me
they are a reality and that the curve of their body is not impermanent, or that the shadow is not permanent, or that the light is fluctual, lining the liminal space between the two, that the design of human nature is wrought not in one space but two,
folding over and in, not in two colors, but one: one within and one without.
black and white art
so tell me why the red that flows
looks like a scar, so mean?
so tell me why the red that flows
looks just like blood, so bright?
it's racing and racing
and flowing and falling
leaves a scrape and a streak
as it runs down the peak
a strange sled of red
down a white snowy head
just you and me
your hand in mine
Tres Tacos Al Pastor
Not a Tuesday but
I kissed him
I kissed him on my 30th birthday
My eyes were closed and it was my Very first
My first time with a man
And he smelled like no woman
I'd ever smelled before
It made me think
White and older but
His eyes twinkled
White beard trim
But big bellied
And my age hit
By three multiples
But we all
Mine was just
A little bit different than
I'm a never
May 17, 2019
My 30th birthday
I don't know which spiraling circle
Was the the last straw
Or if there was
Into the bottomless
Golden sea of broken glass
Until end turns time for one more .
The daily special