Category: Poetry

I feel emotionally precarious.
Currently, I am in between therapists.

It’s the second of air between trapeze hands.
If I fall, I’ve a net of tools where I’ll land.

Anxious yet confident I know my shit.
I know this transfer…where, when & how to hit.

Stick to routines & thrive a day at a time.
Speak up & push-back…you know I prefer rhyme.

I’d not shrink from leaning on those I respect.
I’ve asked to talk…& get indirect neglect.

I say all of this with a nod & a wink…
I’ve got therapy, if there’s paper & ink.

It’s not for you, or about you; it’s all for me.
It’s how I self-parent & process we.

Not “we” separate people; but the royal.
No, Queen…my hats are not made of tinfoil.

Each person I love gives me new perspective.
All still here, my dysfunctional collective.

It is good that I’ve loved abusers to saints.
My emotional palette; infinite paints.

I’ve poured ink over page, model & canvas.
I’d say I painted my way out of Kansas.

The current body politic grows ill & upset.
Sick innards dancing in time with our migraines, I’d bet.

Worrying ourselves sick is so precisely the goal.
Shake us up, down & side to side; disturbing our soul.

Still, never forget that we have our voices for life.
May we course correct…so none becomes an “Of-Blank” wife?

Is your life sleepwalking between benchmarks & birthdays?
Sleepy will be most surprised, when all the ports are razed.

I’ll be distilling my experience, whilst I’m here.
Let’s hope that hate can’t shorten the lives of all the queer. 

Syphilitic tyranny’s now thru our doors.
Yet still, proof of guilt, the base ignores.

Flouting federal judges orders.
Burning bridges over sovereign borders.

Subsidies disappeared from the fed to farms.
Poor voters unaware of their own self-harm.

How does one fool a majority of men?
Tell them they’re losers & promise them a win.

Why should we care about the margins & poor?
Syphilitic tyranny’s now thru our doors.

Tripping over my own early start.
My tangled laces that just won’t part.

I sort it out & push myself thru.
Now, this would be stumble “number two”.

Way too early, before gates open;
I walk the lot, my stride unbroken.

They let me in & I get it done.
Just in time for, yet, another one.

Skyward opens & the floods come down.
I pick up the pace so I don’t drown.

Soaked but back home…an unmelted mess.
Feels good beating the odds, I confess.

Now, open for interpretation…
What “we” means in the constitution.

For, those in power aren’t counting some.
Will you shield your eyes while playing dumb?

Just because it’s not happening to you…
You might find that you are in line too.

Power exploits until all is spent.
“Others” to foreign meat grinders sent.

Can’t see their evil reason & rhyme?
What shock will you feign when it’s your time?

Done away with the pretense of free.
They’re out to get us for all to see.

These questions from my brain…
They can be such a drain.

They occupy my mind…
All queuing in a line.

Each, of equal concern.
Still, each must wait their turn.

My thinking was blue sky…
Now, it clouds with each lie.

I review & plan all.
Now’s all that’s left to fall.

Joy is excitement leaving worry in the dust.
Breaking off the harness & shaking off the rust.

Joy is mania’s annoyingly chipper twin.
Hard to tell them apart with their difference so thin.

Joy is loud laughter that cannot ever be forced.
Breaks solemn faces; where it’s defiantly coursed.

Joy is being fine that you forgot everything.
Company is with you…so, you won’t miss the ding.

Joy is when you trip but turn it into a run.
It’s letting go of life’s sour…come rain or come sun.