- Poetry - Some say the old ways have ceased working,
but I argue they never did. See, when a system raises one type of human, to be the standard bearer and all others to be less than, there’s nothing functional at play – just resentment institutionalized hatred ignorance birthing detriment a weary “us versus them” Audre told me: “The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.” And I am learning now that the master has had his slaves build a house with hammer and nail blood from the back sweat from the brow while he and the others sit in a room the air smoke-laden puffing power into plumes sipping on the extracted tears of silenced suffering, the sweat of fear, and the reality of stolen, harvested youth. I am learning too that while patriarchs laud each other’s dicks marveling at their hammers and massive oil slicks applauding their status quo – calling it creative flow – I am learning that the master’s house is a highly combustible vat of lies built on lies scaffolded on a foundation of untruth and the artificial insemination of hatred and violent discrimination that has been forcibly injected over and over into new born babies into youth so that it might fertilize and grow into a thing that eviscerates a thing that murders a thing over which circle vultures and crows The master’s house is built of straw of sticks of bricks and there is nothing about it that can stand against our blow. For we do not come to dismantle with hammer backs, wood beams or stones. We come with the hurricane the wildfire the weapons of Earth the maelstroms of home. And when our fires and winds and earthquakes combine the master’s house crumbles by its own pathetic design. For the master at one point, too, had the force of nature in his hands but chose instead to build a palace that hoarded material resource that destroyed all surrounding land and which set into motion things inconceivable things too wild and mighty for any patriarch to command. Where the straight, white, Christian male sees only an impending storm – a threat to their artificial norm – we see a reclaiming of earth brought upon the tsunamic tides of beauty difference celebration mirth. We are not disastrous, but are natural wonders to behold and the only thing to which we are hazardous is the infection of the decrepit ideology of old. We are not a force to be reckoned with, but a force that will swallow whole; one that is wet and furious swollen unabashedly curious and when our water breaks the planet will shudder and quake for what we give birth to is a power meant to undo; to render oppressors defeated to rescue the mistreated to usurp and unseat to offer respite and a retreat from the heavy, melting heat to shod bloody, blistered feet to disrupt history’s whitewashed repeat. We have been labeled as monstrous, and by our powers combined we are beast, and with the birth of our child comes love and vitality and the bounty of a feast centered not on slaughtered meat but on the kaleidoscopic variance of the gifts the difference the connection of human beings. |
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May 2020
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