8 F Y R E ' B I R D 8

tonight, i am choking up a fire, tonight the water in me burns and somehow this happens, inside me, making no sense, making only the sense, the sense ripped away from my lungs, my body decaying, how can i hate you and love you both at the same time, paradoxes dwell in me, i suppose this is like when traveling the rocky road home (to oneself) i tell myself to comfort as i push my foot farther down my own throat, yearning for some kind of intensity, some kind of relief from the pain of missing you, of missing me, of not knowing if i can trust myself on the night rides home, always knowing that i can trust something like my capacity to feel such extremities, such extreme seas, always getting closer to the one who i call Mars in me   tonight, i am remembering warmth and my ability to move with it, to move with the raging rivers in me, and not be drowned, somehow keep my head above water, my ear cocked to the horizon, knowing whispers that remind : hiding my queerness is survi...

we are beginning to feel autumn bite at our fingertips. it nips at the tips of our ears and tickles the inside of our necks, not yet covered by scarves.   i love autumn. i love this witch bitch, sad boygirl fall. i love when things get colder, leading us to gather warmth around fires, with loved ones, and in our hearts.   my ancestors know something about how to keep and stay warm throughout the winter months. i am thinking of my slavic peoples, who braved beautiful and terrible winters for generations.   there is one in me who is thinking about stocking, taking stock, and preparing for the colder months to come.   i am in a new home. with a new view. i am next to green again, writing with green. is this home perfect? no, but what is. i am learning to let go of my deeply embedded perfectionism that white supremacy and colonialism has taught me. i do not need to be perfect. neither does anything around me .   letting go of this is libe...

what document were you,   before he entered   what need, were you,   bleeding to her without recognizing   it in yr own eyes   why does the page keep disappearing?   who are you? what are you? why can’t you See yourself?   these are the things i write when i am sorry.   these are the things i write when i am lonely.   when i am sad. when i am heroic. when i bring my   feelings to the page instead of throwing them on someone else.   we use our words to heap feelings on people we use our energy, our capacity for human intention, which really is a seed   of magik, to harm, hurt, lock up, wack, chord, invade, disrupt   other people   this can happen.   this does happen.   (and it can be seen on many levels) ___   A question I recently received from Sandra Kim stays with me: " How can we stop being afraid of how much racism we have interna...