TDoR

How about remembering
not just the violence of the world
but remembering the violence
of the words
that build our graves?

How about remembering
who is really dying
and the systems of control
that bury them alive?

How about remembering
not just the violence of the system
but the violence
this world taught us
we should do
to ourselves?

How about remembering us
before we are dead?

Paper voices

The paper voices
of the people
spoke in poisoned ink

Chose the key
to the door
of the dirty room
already seen

Sold the light bulb
to the collection
of the few
who can afford it

Instead of give it
to the people
who know how
to turn it on

Many paper voices
lost in corner shadows
growing longer

How long till we see
the paper voices
of my people
burnt in private pyres?

Wrong

There is something wrong with me

There is something wrong with me
she tells herself in the mirror
as she looks into eyes
bloodshot
from drink and purging
the bags underneath
carrying more
than broken sleep

There is something wrong with me
as she sees the pale bony
road map of her body
intersected with highways
she scarred the landscape
with herself

There is something wrong with me
as she cannot make herself
stand up
any more
and the dripping walls
and wet lino against
her cheek feels
more real
than her skin
has her whole life

To say she is dying
means she is alive at this point
But how do you realise
you’re drowning
if you don’t know
what it feels like
to breathe?

There is something wrong with me
and she knows this
but she doesn’t know
what it is
and she won’t know
until she sheds
this invisible armour
of lies
and lets the truth
fight it’s way
to the surface

The man who gasps
for the first time
gasps again
at the body
she has left him
There is something wrong with me

There is something wrong with me
he tells himself in the mirror
as he looks into eyes
bloodshot
from crying
the bags packed by the door
carrying more
than broken hearts

There is something wrong with me
as he sees the newly rebuilt landscape
the new growth on his face
above the twin hills
on his chest
watered at their presence

There is something wrong with me
and he cannot stand this
any more
and he did not escape
one ocean
of expectations
to be swept under
in another

There is nothing wrong with me
I tell myself in the mirror
as I look into my eyes
I see the fire of my resolve
and I carry with me
the knowledge
that it is the world
not me
that’s broken
and a map
that holds
the homes
of the dear friends
hands I hold

There is nothing wrong with us
as we look at our love mirrored
as we look into the bright eyes
burning an honest flame
There is nothing wrong with us
as we unload our bodies
as we set down the logs
we kept
and carried
of guilt regret and shame

There is nothing wrong with us
as we light our bonfires
together
not to evaporate the oceans
but to show there’s air
to breathe

There is nothing wrong with us
There is nothing wrong
with us
Let the wind
carry this truth
and thank the truth
no longer hiding

Because although
our fires
not always
seen
There is nothing
wrong
with trying

Just enough

Just enough to say
‘We tried’
Just enough to say
‘We care’
Just enough that no one will
speak out against for fear
of losing what little is given
with vice-gripped
suspicious sneer

Congratulate yourself and
your ministry of lies
As the silent forgotten ones
lose themselves in pieces
Count the creases
round mouths and eyes
And make sure you buy
your tickets to downtrodden’s
protracted demise

Just enough to say
‘We tried’
Just enough to say
‘We care’
Just enough that no one will
point the blame in here
when first with voices,
then bodies, minds,
the undesirables
disappear

Broken burden

Desperate necessary needed
movements at molasses pace
Balanced on backs
broken by burden
tires handed underhand
Tapped capabilities of
our stone calenders
bleed dessicated
desolate

But reconstitute our
constitution
Even crawling
clawing back
our space
Dismantle disconnect to
unroll wholly
resilient resistance
resolute