"unshifting" poems
Trapped in the anxiety
created by society.
It forged a mist and it won't let us go.
Feel the churning hollow pain
at the centre of your brain.
There's nothing really there,
and if there is, why care?
They'll ask you what the point is,
a question that still taunts us,
but the question makes no difference,
and the judgment has no existence.
Should we, or could we flee?
Will we ever be free?
We run, but it's always near.
The unshifting terror, strapping you down.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 3:16 PM UTC
I grew up around men
I grew up wanting to be one of them
That in their love and admiration
I'd find affirmation
I grew up with big brothers and cousins
Who's approval I'd seek
Don't think "just cause I'm a girl"
that I'm weak
I'll climb that tree with you
I'll go one branch higher
Whilst you try to put me down
I remember being left out whilst
The boys were on adventures
Because I was "little"
But really cause I was a "girl"
Why can't I go and play football?
Go fish in the crab pool?
Be split into gender roles in p.e in school?
I don't even have ****
I'm terrible at gymnastics
I hate netball
Forcing me to stand still
Whilst the Guys can dribble their way forward to success playing basketball.
Equal rights?
You must think I'm a fool.
I grew up with a resentment towards girls
I grew up disliking myself
Having to be the smartest and wittiest
The kindest and prettiest
When my brother said
you have "queen bee syndrome"
It hit home
Cause I grew up with a love for women
The comfort they bring
But a dislike that I felt reliant on them
Often the ones that would listen
It's tiring to constantly feel like
you're in competition
That for me their strength
seems to threaten
When really it should be inspiration...
So I grow now with a vision
That equality will be achieved
Bit by bit and I'll start with me,
My own mentality
And I don't believe
That put downs are necessary
No hate, no proclamations
Of unshifting patriarchy
This will be done.
If I ever have children
They will each get every opportunity
To be what it is they want to be
I will see to that personally
Cause all these boundaries
just deny possibility
Just think of the world it could be
Cause what lies between your legs
Does NOT determine ability
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 11:09 PM UTC
The sun glares down
Over lost, weary travellers,
Casting crimson
Over the rolling dunes.
Their shadows
Fall upon the sand;
An ocean of tiny little grains—
Moving,
Always moving
Under the wind,
Like travellers themselves—
Millions of them,
Moving,
Shifting,
Changing,
Constantly inconstant.
The lines atop the dunes—
The divide where light and dark
Separate,
Alter their shape
With the shifts in the sand,
Wriggling like a snake.
This view,
This world
Of rolling dunes,
Stark segregations of light and dark,
Sandy, cutting winds,
Was not made for strangers—
For these poor wanderers.
They wander,
Like tiny ants,
Upon an endless, reddened landscape,
So far from their nest—
Made up of grand structures,
Taller than they are vast,
Crafted carefully,
Brick by brick.
Unshifting,
Unchanging,
Stark and clear against the sky.
Far too compact
To allow room for wandering.
Glass and stone—
A wall against the winds.
A place
Where these strangers weren’t strangers.
It was there—
Right there.
Standing above the dunes,
Reaching out of the sand
Into a pink expanse of clouds.
But no,
These strangers
Remain strangers,
Wandering a world
Of harsh beauty
And wondrous irregularity.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 7:01 AM UTC
I think he's there but
I can't be sure.
Can anyone be sure
Of themselves,
Or can they
Just lie convincingly
Next to one another,
Two boys lay on their chests
Fingers blooming out towards
The Others. No contact
Their heads averted
They lie, as mirrored angels
Unshifting, so they don't spill blood
From their backs
On the snow
It's easier to be near someone
If you don't have to look.
You don't have to feel
Blue snow on your wound
Or red hands in yours
Or the relief that feels red-black
Like the color of your eyelids.
closing my eyes
And looking makes me feel
The closest I can to seeing inside
My mind, and it's all bouncing dots
And swirling pink-blue-red-black-white.
I want to be a flower
Because they don't have eyes
To close. I want to be a flower
Because they need only be open
To the sky, and the sky loves them.
The sky rains when they are closed and
When they are blooming, the sky
Shines light through their petals
And says,
I love the way you glow.
May 13, 2025
May 13, 2025 at 5:38 PM UTC