back from Sprog. (‘What is Sprog?’ it’s a week long gathering of environmental activists learning how to organize while making connections unlike ever before)
I feel so opened. So free. Ready to take on the world! I went into Sprog a week ago feeling defeated, by people online and off. Daily life had become such an intense struggle, and I felt so very alone. I knew I was part of a huge community fighting for justice, but energetically I felt so isolated. I felt disconnected from that community, and so I felt like I had nowhere to turn but to my own sorrows.
Sprog has changed that. It has given me a sense of rejuvenation, showing me that I am so, so, so not alone in this fight. The most beautiful people have blessed my life and soul over the past week, and feel so honoured to have blessed theirs. Sharing stories of heartache, of struggles, of life and death, the safe space we created for each other became a graveyard to bury old demons and a fierce green fire from which a hundred bright phoenixes rose from their ashes.
Under the stars and over great food, we learned what humans are capable of. Faith in humanity is often such a faraway thing, one you must squint to see. But at Sprog, it blazes in the eyes of everyone, sparks jumping from one being to another. The yearning for peace and the motivation to seek it was evident in every soul in that space. Giving up is not an option, not anymore.
People who had never felt what it was to be truly loved, entirely accepted, and free to be who they are in their soul, found this all and more at Sprog. It was touching and wildly beautiful to see people’s eyes and faces lighting up with the glow of being loved. Identities were accepted, discovered, and validated. The complete liberty to express every part of one’s identity is so rare in our society.
I have never felt so comfortable and open with a group of people. I had multiple people tell me that my openness on the first day set the tone of the space, shaping it as the safe and liberating space it was to become. I am humbled and honoured to have been a catalyst for the space, for it helped me and everyone at Sprog to own who they are.
As our no-talent show turned into a night-long dance party, I felt myself letting go. As my hands reached above my head, as my bare feet pounded the dirty floor, as my hair flowed wildly around my face, something shifted in my soul. I became aware of what it is to be. To be alive. To be a part of something, to be truly connected with a group of human beings. I lost myself to the moment and to the music, but when I reeled myself back in, I saw that a piece of me had been added. In losing myself, I found so much of myself. A part of my soul previously untouched had been sparked into life, and now it was beating in time with the rest of my being.
Looking around at the dancing bodies around me, jumping to the same beat but in so many different ways, I felt as if the night had opened up and all the brilliant colours of supernovae had flooded the room. If the definition of Life has ever taken a physical form, it was this circle of humans, letting go and not being afraid to be unabashedly, uninhibitedly themselves.
one dog town
chicago is a setter, rough and tumble when need be;
elegant and tall at cocktail parties
with long fur flowing in the windy city’s breeze.
new york is a shepherd, fast and unrivaled
yet well groomed and eye catching for soho;
that big city glint in their eye bright as times square.
d.c. is a mutt, almost purebred with a hint of street dog,
carrying their tail high but on awkward too-long legs.
easily distracted, they lift their leg in the white house garden.
you can travel the country from dog to dog
but none rival the tail wagging when you get home
after long journeys,
nervous taxi rides,
no city outshines the small town,
the world within your dog
as he beholds his weary traveler.
sniffing the scent of dogs you have met—
illinois smells of busses and breeze,
new york of exhaust and fast food,
virginia of salt and sunscreen—
he decodes your path.
in the end,
it doesn’t matter where you go
as long as you return to long walks,
crinkling treat bags,
slobbery summer days,
and a pillow to share at night.
for however far you roam
you always come home to your one dog town.
// deerflies //
a certain sense of apprehension
head shakes and constant twitches
she is a deer covered in flies
plagued by small devils carrying disease—
don’t let them bite.
she can see the horizon thick with dust
she knows she must soon begin to run
cloven hooves spreading sand, sifting soil,
spades trying to save a dead garden in frost.
no antlers on her head, she can’t fight with force
she must use her ears, her eyes, her heart
while she runs, it beats with nervous purpose
and pumps her poison
the flies, they feed on this rotten juice
drinking through sharp straws
draining her slowly of the dark and heavy slurry
of sleepless nights and haunted daylight
she weakens, falters, misses a step;
heading towards the last sliver of sun,
the flies find her.
she is coated in her fears
swarmed by her sadness
they climb in her nose
she chokes on her demons
they have taken everything
and now they steal what’s left.
when you stop seeing yourself as an angel, you find that you were the most terrible devil all along.
the guy giving the guest lecture for my animal bio class has a really calming nice voice i wish he could teach all the classes i love his voice
some of my newer poems
we could be heading to the city with wind in our hair,
blasting the summer radio as we race over the river,
singing and laughing and holding hands so shyly.
pulling up to the museums, looking at the monuments
passing the busy traffic and tourist lines.
find a low-lit corner of the museum to sit,
next to each other with heads leaning against the other’s.
watching the people go by, staring at the unmoving animals.
the lion snarls at them, the antelope stare into an invisible distance.
we look up, and see the leopard up high, with her kill in the tree.
she is ready to pounce, to take an unsuspecting visitor by surprise.
it is in that moment that you gently turn my head to you
and you look into me like a leopard who has been waiting too long.
but you are more gentle, kind, soft than she.
instead of a kill, you go in for a kiss.
in the museum full of stories, we write our own.
and in these stars, your light will shine.
close to the sky on the peak of the snowy capped sentinel,
we sit, and we feel—
each other’s hearts, each other’s hands, each other’s being.
underneath those stars, at the top of the world,
we feel what it means to love.
the moon pulls on the sea
like you pull on my heart
and you come and go in waves
in tides and mighty bursts
cooling my feet, washing my fear,
and drowning me all the same.
you are the ocean and the moon,
you are the comings and goings,
you are light and you are power,
and most of all, you are mystery.
you are love.
i’ll give you my camera—
develop the film,
hang it up,
stare at it against your blank white walls.
as the dust hovers gently in the morning sun,
the photos i take,
they’re all of you.
the assignment was ‘beauty’
and i see nothing but you.
with sleep, nature has given us rest.
with sleep, nature has given me a chance
to rest my head on your shoulder,
touch your hair with gentle fingertips,
braid fresh picked daisies where my fingers just left,
feel sand underneath my toes and know that your own skin feels it too, breathe the silent summer air and taste you in the rain,
feel the beating of your heart while i wrap my arms around you,
touch ancient bark with one hand and hold your palm in the other,
look out at the sea and have the wind hit our faces,
stare at you with stars in my eyes as the real ones shine above,
sweetly, timidly, tenderly, kiss you under those stars on mountain peaks.
with sleep, nature has given me dreams.
with sleep, nature has given me you.
i am so in love with words that if i give you mine, they are my heart stamped in neat black ink across the page.
a sweet song and a small smile, i gift them to you inside rhymes. memories of the times i wanted to die, pain so great i wanted to rip my chest open and spill myself out on the table, i plant them in your heart with small phrases so that you may love every part of me.
every apple i’ve bitten, all the sweet juice running down my fingers, it’s in lyrics and in silent tunes. my comets and my stars, one falling into the other, no stopping its path, only slowing— they’re singed into the paper, ash dusting their places like ants on a summer sidewalk.
i am a poet, and my heart lives in my words. you have my words, you have my heart.
there is nothing in me left
but sensors in my eyes
sensitive to you
and all your blinding light
my hands are numb
my mind is dark
my body’s silent
just like my heart
i fade and then appear
in sorrow and in pain
i look at you and wonder when
these tears will turn to rain
orion is not fighting the bull.
he is fighting me.
aldeberon is my heart
and orion’s bow will pierce it.
it will bleed like a nebula through the sky,
dripping into stars.
my love will spill
among the darkness
and i know i won’t get it back.
so lay down your weapon
and please look at me gently.
i saw you tonight,
in the sky.
i blew a kiss to the big dipper
and smiled at the moon.
you saw me too—
and, across the miles, you smiled back.
you may not know it,
but you did.
i felt it—
and in the cold, i felt a flame.
this should be the place where we sit under the stars
whispering to the breeze and the beating of our hearts
to a golden dawn we sing as the bats return to night
we curl up and sleep while touched by the light
the satellite is you, orbiting the earth
the planet, home, the hearth
where you find a joyful rest
and watch until your fears have left.
that is me, so far below, the planet kind and vast
filled with people loving you in future and in past
my oceans and my streams fill with turquoise tears
my mountains and my deserts reach to you through years
hurricanes and raging seas will never stop my core
from burning hot and bright for you,
my fuel, my heat, my ore.
so, dear satellite, come back from where you came
for you know, deep within, you hold a spark and flame.
come lay in the cracks in my heart
they are soft, quiet, safe
I am broken but my scars
are warmer than my flesh
and you can sit in them for the night
for as long as you’d like
you may take refuge in my heart
amid the cold beating,there is warmth
you are scared and you look to the windows—
you want to run.
I tell you, stay; stay with me in my brokenness,
and you will find that you will heal.
cotton lines my scars, blankets and pillows too—
come into me, and be treated well.
I will not clip your wings,
I will let you fly,
but you’ll soon find you don’t want to go far.
your nervous wings will lead you home,
and darling, you’re safe with me.
of course my hands are shaking as i type this, but it’s not all anxiety— part of my nervous energy is excitement, to finally be able to be fully, completely open about myself.
i am gay with the ability to be biromantic, and i am asexual towards males and demisexual towards females. (basically, i prefer girls.)
i’m not sure if anyone could tell, i haven’t been ‘hiding’ it per se, but i just haven’t found a way to properly come out to everyone until now. i have had plenty of opportunities with family and friends, but my anxiety got the better of me.
i am PROUD of who i am. it has taken many years, layers of heartache, and too many sleepless nights to count. but i’ve finally arrived at a place within myself that i’m comfortable with, and i don’t want to keep this important part of myself from all of my friends and family.
hopefully i can be a strong and friendly advocate for the LGBTQIA+ community, and show that we’re just like everyone else, just varying in our romantic/sexual attractions.
please respect that this is both relieving and difficult for me, and a reminder: sexuality and romantic attraction is FLUID, and the labels i have presented myself under have changed and probably will change in the future. but i’m sharing what i feel are the best descriptions of me currently, so i hope you will accept them but know that it’s been a hell of a journey simply narrowing it down to this.
thank you <3
are u ready for love poems from the heart …. .. idk they just come easily, i just get a word in my head and these poems fall out
as the stars fade away,
you still shimmer.
i am still looking to you
while the foxes go to their dens.
as the owls come out to hunt,
you still glow.
the moths come to you,
thinking you are the moon.
as the wolves head out to howl,
you still burn.
your flames lick the sky,
turning clouds into smoke.
as the stars fade away,
that is when you shine.
there was never a time
when i didn’t know you
it’s just there were so many times
i hadn’t met you.
like the heron’s feet stir the silt,
you shift the floor of my heart
you kick up dust and
light fires when you walk.
if the sun were to swallow us,
you’d still shine
burning even in night.
at the end of the world,
you will be my light
and we will walk the earth
until it falls.
the heart, drumming
the hands, shaking
the mind, racing:
the daily routine
of someone watching
their star shining
even in day.
science tells us we’re nothing more than dust.
i agree — but you, you aren’t dust, you’re glitter,
larger than us all, brighter and more brilliant,
falling through the morning sun
like a star around a galaxy —
among the stardust.
there aren’t enough stars
for me to
14.5 billion years
the universe is still
you cannot be contained,
there is too much light in you.
i won’t count the stars—
there will never be enough.
on our wings made of horse feathers, darling, we’ll soar
over the lakes and the fields of hay
i’ll keep flying higher ; falling further for you
if time and the wind should stop in a day
give me your hand
and i will hold it kindly
give me your heart
and i will love it dearly
the two of us, broken wanderers,
carrying each other’s hearts
with our own trembling hands
we will carry them to the mountains
wash them in the streams
dry them in the winds
and mend them in each other
on top of the world
where nothing can touch us
and each other
the birds pick and scratch
fossils lay behind them in the brush
dusty footprints with tiny claws
seeds scattered in a rush
travellers on century winds;
short wings, long journey.
without end, never tiring
stretching on across the years
forever and a day, the finches do their work
blind to the bones allowing them to live
cataracts clouding what time has yet to give
the albatross soars silent over
the seals leaping in the surf
no stopping to this endless day
the finches in their sun
sit bright, a lively cast
while burning up their past
the islands blaze
the waves rage
the seabirds dance
they fall into the lower bowl
themselves the sands of time
perhaps the clock will never fill
perhaps they’ll never die
like the years — and centuries strong,
slow and steady — time goes on.
idk man i was in a mood to rhyme two lines at a time
the wild horses running with dust in their manes
the blue light of night blankets the plains
the pounding of hooves, the rush of the wind
the herd moves as one, freedom within
their hearts and their souls, as well as their eyes
which shine with the moon as it sits in the sky
by day the bright sun burns our skin
it sears our hearts before we begin
at night the moon will heal our pain
and lets us love until the day
these celestial dragons, their wings made of stars
fly through their nighttime like we run through ours
the starlit serpents we see are of flesh
their scales shine bright but they are unlike the rest
of the bright fliers gliding through galaxy winds
as they look back at us, their terrestrial friends
the sharp scent of pine wafts into the room
it tickles our noses like a soft breeze in june
our bedsheets are wrapped round our legs and our chests
as we lie there together, two birds in their nest
your long golden hair glows like the sun
illuminated softly, so beautifully undone
you pull me closer as the breeze moves the blinds
kissing my forehead, you smell sweetly of pine
warm and content we kiss as the birds
sing sweetly to us as we love without words.
the swirling of stars, the billowing nebulas
the gases and elements and all of their formulas
the suns and their lineups of planets and moons
through this the blue box spins, hurtles, zooms
in it a man as old as a comet,
with a trail behind him just as long and atomic
his life spread across the galaxies shining
his path a web that now is unwinding
as gold dust shimmers across his palms and his nose
his new life begins, where to— no one knows.
the mockingbird bride found a lace hairpiece drowning
on the edge of a lake by the old campground housing
she plucked it to safety in the clasp of her claws
and flew away swiftly over cabins and lawns
reaching her nest she set down the treasure
to make sure her mate would see it with pleasure
he came home that night, belly full of berries
and, seeing her gift, his heart flew with fairies.
as i sit at the end of the world, counting the pebbles, the waves, the buildings, my heartbeats, i feel nothing. i am silent and still as the empty earth is. as i drop the pebbles onto a pile, they don’t clatter as they roll down the sides. when i am at the beach, the waves do not crash. when the buildings fall, they kick up dust but i can’t hear a thing. when i listen to my heart, it’s screaming but it’s behind so much glass, so many scars, that it’s only a whisper. the only voice left in the wasteland. i choose to ignore it, and continue in silence. words would be too much. if i let myself hear, i would let myself feel, and at the end of the world what other feelings are left other than heartache and sadness and fear. i’ve felt those enough, why should i let them find me again.
i sit and add another pebble to my pile.
i count another wave.
i watch another fall.
i feel another crack.
everything falls apart. everything ends. everything dies. everything fades. nothing remains. i feel like im at the end of the world and all i have left are memories of when the earth was new. i sit amid the rubble, counting pebbles. i sit by the coast, counting down until the tsunamis. i sit on the hill and count how many buildings fall. i sit in my heart, counting how many more breaks it can take.
answer: not enough.
im alone and sad and tired and empty and im slipping quickly back into my old ruts my old ways my old days of not caring about anything but eating and sleeping and this time i may actually welcome it because at least in my pit i know what i’m doing, i know where i am. i know it is dark and lonely and sad and scary and no one comes in and no one comes out and not even the bats dare to roost above me. im so tired. im so damn tired. i need a break but life just keeps pushing on and i can either hide or continue to ruin everything i touch so this time i will jump into my cave gladly, knowing that while i may not be safe from the world, the world will be safe from me.
maybe i dont deserve to be happy? maybe i dont deserve luck? maybe i dont deserve love? maybe i have such an empty heart now that it’s just so deep and lonely and dark that no one wants to try and fill it? is that it? is everyone afraid of the dark? i’m afraid of it too. but all my candles are gone, all my fires are ashes, and my flashlight’s out of batteries. i could hang streamers, or maybe even put up a welcome sign. would that be inviting enough? no. probably not. it’s pretty lame. but i’m out of ideas and i’m out of energy and pretty soon that puddle on the very very bottom — see it down there? i know, it’s dark, but you really have to look, i promise it’s there — will dry up and i’ll be left with absolutely nothing. and for this long, all i’ve ever done is give. when i’m out of love to give, what will happen to me? what will i be? where will i be? what will i do? all my efforts to find a match to light up this darkness have failed. all the times i’ve thought i’ve found a new river, i realize its course doesn’t run through my cavernous heart. maybe i’m stranded. maybe i’m meant to be alone. maybe i’m just destined to sit alone, on the dry floor of my once flooded heart, and take in the cold darkness and discover something good about it. that doesn’t seem fun, and i don’t look forward to it, but it’s where i’m headed so i might as well make the most of it.
i need to learn
that all a heart ever does
i need to learn
that all a light ever does
i need to learn
that all i ever do
i need to learn
that all life ever is
i need to learn
that all i will ever do
i need to learn
that i will never survive
and existing is alright
except you’re not living.