blessings for seven generations

blessings for seven generations

bless your hands & your hearts
& dancing your own dances
& the earth that is still green & blue
bless you

bless your life & how you live it
bless the makings you make
& the tools you use
bless you

bless the chants you chant
& the songs you sing
bless your feelings
bless you

bless your hair & your eyes
& your beautiful face
bless the beauty you make
bless you

bless your gods & goddesses
bless the prayers on your lips
bless the rhythm in your hips
bless you

bless your food & your table
bless your grace & your faith
& the family you choose
bless you

bless your resistance
bless your screams
bless your anger
bless you

bless your world
i pray for your world
i fight for your world
i fight for you

bless your children & their children
bless the games you play
& the joy you make
bless you

bless the shine that shines
down the line
the generations that shined
shined for you too
bless you

bless you in the mirror
bless you in the street
bless you on land
bless you at sea

bless your travels
bless your longings
bless your struggles
bless you

bless your freedom
bless your liberation
bless your knowings
bless you

bless you wild
bless you loud
bless your anger
bless you

bless you gentle
bless you soft
bless your kindness
bless you

bless your world
i pray for your world
i fight for your world
my blessing to you

divine grace

warning: this poem may be triggering for survivors of abuse

divine grace

“too often
must dodge & weave
unknown traumas
within my mind
to find my way safely
thru this life”
– maggie grace

we were enchanted children
indigo grrrls
unpaid sex workers
sucking cocks

they shot darkness
behind the curtains
of our throats

children at their banquets
children are banquets
grandfathers hands
knead shoulders, online heads

labor labor never rest
soldier children
stiff with one purpose
SURVIVE

this hidden universe
ancient
generational
forbidden to name

they split us
and split us
and split us
and split us

they forced themselves
in every crack
there is no hiding
we knew that

and we broke
we broke
we are broke
broken backwards children

grace you are called grace
grace you are the cracks
grace you are the puzzle
and the web

oh leysh i want to call you
grace. i should have called
you grace. i should have known
you live in these cracks too.

oh leysh oh leysh
oh fuck you oh ayuniz
oh habibtiz oh victims
sacred victims

i call you grace

sacred victim
reviled survivor
we come unglued
we fall through our cracks

we don’t have the power
to go back and have
acceptable childhoods

we thought they had
all the power
we thought they had
the whole world

but they didn’t have the cracks
we live here in the cracks
oh my young artist
learn to love the cracks

this web we are weaving
is held by grace
this freedom we are singing
is loved by grace

grace’s hand on my heart
squeezes til the tears come
grace’s hand on my life
keeps me steady for joy

this art isn’t finished
the enemy is within us
our power is grace
grace be with us

losers

losers

1.
if your story is dull
water on stone
wearing you down until

one day there’s this
deep depression
right in the center of you

and there’s nothing left
to study but that hole
in your middle

and the whole has teeth
and the money never comes
and you find your eyes

they weigh a thousand pounds
the boulder that is
your whole your hole

and it has teeth. rotten
teeth that ache in your mouth
and gnash in your sleep

2.
if your story is horrible
and plain when it lays
beside the pain of the world

and the hole grumbles
and sends its stuff all over
your aching body

and all your friends have
wholes too,
and aching bodies
and terrible stories

and the world is a wave
that crashes on you over
and over on all of you

and you try to keep each other’s
hands but your fingers slip
away from each other

and all your pain and your
aching bodies and the
drone of the wave

it’s so loud
so fucking loud
but you learn to drown it out

with the television the
internet and those hands
hands you maybe never seen

3.
if you fold these ghosts
into your heart between
two delicate leaves

even as the waves are
crashing and the noise
is echoing through you

and the leaves fall away
one at a time or
in a great rush

and your tears fall
like rain and your screams
disappear into the ocean

4.
if you are lonely and whole
and you’ve met the maw
in your inmost being

if you are sad and aching
and loving and fierce
and exhausted

hold on
hold on
hold on
hold on
hold on

equations

the arithmetic of lies
2 + 2 = believe me
2 + 2 = i will save you
2 + 2 = don’t worry your pretty little head
i came to help
don’t fight it

the arithmetic of vengeance
2 + 2 = some kind of better life without you
2 + 2 = this longing is not for you
2 + 2 = give me something for this pain
fuck aspirin
this is existential

the arithmetic of illness
2 + 2 = my shattered nerves
2 + 2 = somebody’s pain scale
2 + 2 = everyone leaves
suitcase full of symptoms
see it dragging behind

the arithmetic of hope
2 + 2 = flowers that bloom and die
2 + 2 = flowers don’t do arithmetic
2 + 2 = what is hope
2 + 2 = the nature of this flower is to die
2 + 2 = withering is part of the deal
2 + 2 = is hope the opposite of letting go

i’m falling
always falling
never landing
never ending
never sure
never promised
never the same
never again

for frida (and the angels standing guard ’round the side of my bed)

1
stretch towards me
tell me your secrets
did you walk
did you walk

i think of myself,
you
everyone does it
not hard to see the resemblance
i love and share your femmestache

our eyes that burn
our art that slips under the carpets
our gender fierceness
our light skin and dark hair

was your room your kingdom
your bed throne

i can’t talk about you
i can only ask

i don’t know things
i don’t know things
about you

2
were you jewish
i am jewish
brown jew

not brown and jew
not arab and jew
brown jew mizrahi jew

3
were you beautiful to them
was it because of your light skin

were you ugly to them
was it because of your brokenness

how did you find your lovers
did they seek you out
were they afraid of breaking you more

did you experience much
physical pleasure
did your lovers
please you

how how how?

how did you live
how did you eat
who fed you

how how how?

did you drown in your
aloneness
did your art keep you
in company
were you quarantined for hours
days
months
years

4
how did you find me
how did you know i needed you

i found you after my own accident
cracked skull and dead friend
five of us survived

it wasn’t me who needed you then
amiga boliviana
she tattooed your brokenness
claimed you as her own

i drowned in bible verses
brain injured stupor
words and numbers
floated around my fractured head

but you came back to me
how did you know

5
my body is my kingdom
i believe in my existence
i wear you when i create
your stare comforts me

i wear this brittle existence
like a crown of thorns
i think i float
when angels carry me

my labor uncompensated
my art unrecognized
my anger wrapped in cloth
and exhaustion

6
i don’t know how to stay alive
you carry me

i don’t know how to exist
you validate me

i don’t know how to bear the pain
you comfort me

i don’t know why i am invisible
you recognize me

i don’t know how to breathe
you breathe through me

i’m pain’s bitch

thank you pain
you bitch
thank you

you’ve made me your bitch
pain and i’m grateful i’m
so so grateful

you rip through me
deeper than any orgasm

thank you bitch
you pain
thank you

you’ve got me
collared pain
thank you

you touch my body
fingers of flame
every day

your love is so intense
pain you bitch

oh and every day you
fuck me til i cry
howling
oh god
oh!

you rip my thoughts
out of my head pain
thank you

nothing else matters
when i’m with you

just you and me
in the sheets
howling and clawing

harridan

harridan

she sits in the crooked branches of a maple tree
surveying the wilderness that surrounds her ordinary body.
she imagines herself strong and fast like a horse
with soft ebony eyes and muscled flesh.

the darkened windows in town see nothing.
burned ashes of the dead after battle
their charred remains pungent in the air
low moans of the wounded enter her without apology.

she is witness to all.

you say it doesn’t matter

you say it doesn’t matter

why they left or came.
did they break like waves on the shores of
Catalina?
where did they land?
where did they come from?
you say it doesn’t matter.

pores are empty spaces on our flesh.
mine are filled with questions about
your grandmothers.
is it true you don’t remember
their names?
you say it doesn’t matter.

i’ve heard your scream in dark houses
with your eyes wide you run through
the hall. oil seeps from your pores and your
smell is sharp and dangerous. i think you’re
running away from the past. and i think
it matters.

which direction were they facing as the boat
sailed west? that’s what i want to know.
what was left behind?

when you’re screaming in the night
i think it must be something big
sliding in the spaces of your pores and
i wonder if you even know what it is.

it matters.

hysteria

(i wrote this around 2005, visit this site when i was stuck in a cycle of poverty, homelessness and exclusion.)

i’ve been struggling with this article for months now. there are so many things that i need to say about ableism and i don’t even know where other people are at in thinking about this shit. like other forms of oppression, i struggle against social messages that it’s a personal problem and responsibility. and while i know that’s bullshit, somehow talking about my personal experiences, particularly within the “social services,” feels extremely uncomfortable. i don’t see much out there written by and about poverty-stricken disabled people, and we’re really going through a lot! i know that i’m one of the lucky ones, because i have a partner who supports us, even though we’re still poor, we have a place to live.

so much needs to be said about the topic of ableism. my intention is to be a voice contributing to what’s already out there. these are the thoughts that are most pressing to me right now. i hope they will challenge, validate and energize you.

disability is a social construct. i see it as two things. one is a legal idea that has to do with access- to work and livelihood, and to participation as a full member of society. that idea puts responsibility on the individual as opposed to the society they live in. the second aspect of disability is about normalcy. people with disabilities aren’t “normal.” it’s one or the other or both. a person with disabilities either has restricted access to what is supposed to be available to everyone in society, &/or we’re not normal.

does it need to be said that “normalcy” is socially constructed?

a problem in the struggle against ableism has to do with the definition of disability. even the term “able-bodied” obscures a comprehensive definition of disability. this term has become synonymous with “nondisabled,” when in fact they are not the same. the fact is that there are plenty of people who are disabled and able-bodied. they are not mutually exclusive. many people in disabled, nondisabled and mixed communities have a definition of disability that is limited to readily apparent (if you can see) physical disabilities. people who do not fit into this definition, regardless of the extent to which we may experience ableist oppression, must simultaneously struggle against a definition of disability that doesn’t include us. yet so many people with “non-apparent” disabilities struggle with the same issues as other disabled folks: money, access, medical care, isolation, and so on (and on and on).

i’ve been on welfare for about a year. first of all, i make $339 cash and $120 in foodstamps a month. i also have a medical coupon that covers allopathic medicine at the poor people clinics (cuz most providers don’t take them) but doesn’t cover anything “alternative” or mental health care. that’s the most allotted to a single person in washington state. you can’t even rent a room in seattle for the amount of money i get. it’s almost impossible. if you’re on welfare, you’re either lying about your resources, you’ve lucked into a situation with low rent and bills, you’re homeless, or you’re completely immersed in the social services and at their mercy for your basic needs. most people in seattle have to go through the shelter system for at least two years before getting into even semi-permanent housing. and you have to understand that this kind of housing is extremely restrictive in terms of curfews and house rules. those are basically the options for people on welfare/GAU.

i have to go through a recertification process every three months. almost every time i’ve gone through this process, my caseworker has basically tried to trick me into getting kicked off welfare, usually by giving me false or incomplete information about what was required of me in order to continue getting benefits. usually i get kicked off and have to fight to get back on. this is every three months. it puts me through an emotional roller coaster because i actually do need this money to live on. if i didn’t, there’s no way i would go through this humiliating, repetitive, disrespectful process over and over again. i have about one month where i can relax between reviews, the other two are occupied with completing my review or fighting to get my benefits back. if they fuck up, i have to suffer the consequences. there are never consequences for them. what am i gonna do, tell them i won’t be supporting their organization anymore? no, because i have no other choice. that’s fucken oppressive.

how about people just get to live? how about we have the right to a roof over our heads. how about we just get to? what if i could just eat? what if i didn’t have to fight to eat in an abundant world? if i didn’t need to be on welfare i wouldn’t be on it. cuz it’s a horrible system and they treat me like shit.

i’ve been trying to get social security for about six years, and it’s the same shit. it’s so tedious and boring! but if i give up, i’m faced with the choice of being completely financially dependent on my partner (who is also disabled but able to work), or trying to find ways to get money which aren’t legal or sanctioned by the system. and the fact is that i have a stress-related illness that would be a barrier in even doing illegal things for money. i would do almost anything rather than be on welfare. it’s worse than any work i’ve ever done. i’ve never been as mistreated or humiliated.

the oppression i experience is this slow poison. it is slowly eating me away. i want people to know what’s going on with me but it’s so tedious and so boring and so soul-deadening. i don’t know how to talk about it. i’m not trying to put people through what i’m going through because i don’t want people to have to go through this tedious bullshit, even vicariously. at the same time, i need people to understand what people on welfare, disabled people and people living in poverty are going through. it’s a mind-numbing, soul-deadening completely disrespectful process that’s not even interesting to talk about.

the only drama that happens is because the welfare office is so crazy-making “here’s your money. now i’m taking it away. no here it is. oh no you don’t!” that’s what it’s like. it’s a constant mind-fuck. everyone has a right to food, shelter, and healthcare. that’s the bottom line. but the mainstream attitude is if you can’t provide for yourself, there’s something wrong with you, and being on welfare is a form of punishment. social darwinism–survival of the fittest. if you’re crazy, retarded or crippled–you’re not fit. regardless of liberal rhetoric, most people don’t place much importance on if you live or die if you’re disabled.

a lot of people seem to need some dramatic story, and what happens to disabled people living in poverty, from what i’ve seen and experienced, is not exciting or dramatic until we hit the streets or die. it’s just an ongoing, humiliating process of trying to get our needs met through different institutions who basically don’t give a fuck about us, or worse, actually hate us. it’s very rare for me to have a positive experience with health care or social services. the message we get is that our lives just don’t matter. not only is our survival not considered important to society at large, but also even many people and organizations that purport to be against oppression act as if they can’t be bothered with us. we end up isolated and it’s not interesting. sitting around with nothing to do isn’t interesting. so how do i talk about that?

i don’t feel like i need to entertain people, but at the same time, how do i describe nothing in a way that conveys how oppressive the lack of opportunity is? how do i explain how oppressive the lack of accessibility everywhere is when the oppression is that you’re hanging out by yourself and you don’t have anything to do or anyone to talk to or hang out with or anyone that gives a fuck? i’m trying to figure out how i talk about my experiences in a way that’s not boring for the person reading it. cuz it’s boring. it’s shitty. it’s like a poison. the lack of access is like a poison, constantly being told “you don’t matter. you don’t matter.” i cannot participate not only in mainstream society but also in the radical communities in seattle. oftentimes oppression is institutionalized within so-called activist, anti-oppression groups or communities. only those who are particularly hardy or have some other level of privilege are able to get around it and participate in those communities.

for a lot of people and groups, accessibility is an addendum that’s tacked on if it’s convenient. if not, it doesn’t happen. first of all, many people envision accessibility in terms of ramps. or if they’re really evolved (there’s that social darwinism again!) it will include sign-language interpreters and fragrance-free. that last one has been tacked on recently, with the epidemic proportions of people who have developed chemical sensitivities in this toxic society. all of those things are important. ideally, they would be a given everywhere. and they’re not. at the same time, that’s not the definition of accessibility. that makes things more accessible to people who need those specific accommodations.

a lot of groups are actually structured in ways that don’t leave room for disabled people. i know that i would be a lot more likely to contact a group if they had a specific contact for accessibility questions. a lot of people think of doing this for events, but they don’t consider doing this for people considering getting involved in the decision-making body of the group. there’s an attitude that disabled people can’t do anything, and there’s also the pity/hate/fear continuum that disabled people must face in the nondisabled world. so disabled people are invited to public events, but not into the organizing bodies that are putting on these events.

many organizations and groups are run with little or no concern for accessibility. those concerns come up after the decisions have already been made. this is extremely problematic, and raises the question, ‘are these people truly concerned with accessibility or are they trying to appear politically correct?’ be cause if you try and make your events accessible but your meetings aren’t accessible, then basically you’re not interested in having disabled people be part of the decision making body of your group. you just don’t want anyone to think you’re deliberately trying to exclude us from your public events– which you set the agenda for and you organized without significantly reaching out to disabled people, groups and communities. and yes, it’s important to have events that are accessible, but many groups who put on events don’t have even a single concern for how they can invite and welcome disabled people into the decision making body of the group.

even the idea that a person has to attend meetings in person or at all to become part of the decision making process of a group is problematic. for example, a local seattle group has wheelchair accessible public events but their office is at the top of a flight of stairs with no elevator and no lift. people who can’t attend meetings are often expected to do grunt work if they want to be part of a group. but how hard would it be for a non-profit organization get a conference phone/TTY, for example, so people who cannot attend meetings can still participate? and for those who do have these capabilities, why not advertise them, or at least advertise the fact that you’re open to discussing accessibility needs with potential new members?

an ableist society pities/hates/fears sick people, amputees, blind or deaf people, crazy people, people who use assistive devices, people in chronic pain, cognitively disabled people and everyone else who doesn’t fit into it’s definition of normalcy or fitness. each separate disability has it’s own stigmatism, and the result of each and every one of them is isolation. many disabled folks live in poverty. this is not because we don’t have anything significant to contribute to our communities and the world. it is because of ableism, a socially constructed form of oppression that systematically isolates and penalizes people who are outside the socially constructed idea of physical, mental and emotional normalcy.

if we’re going to struggle against ableist oppression, we need to be responsible, both as individuals and communities, for challenging ableism as it manifests in society, our communities and ourselves.

post script
finances are an ongoing issue for me, particularly because i cannot generally conform to job requirements and am quite ill. since writing this article: i experienced an extended period of homelessness; relocated cross-country three times looking for MCS safe housing and consistent work for my partner; have gotten off welfare in favor of being dependent on a partner with a steady, well paying job (wooo!!!); and am starting to make strides towards having an income of my own, with a lot of help from my artistic and disabled friends and community members.

in addition, i was finally given a reason for my breathing problems and MCS (Multiple Chemical Sensitivities). i have lung tumors!! with that revelation came a diagnosis for the tumor condition i have had since 1995: benign metastasizing leiomyomatosis.

i have yet to be apprived for social security disability.

if you’re intersted in supporting my work, i invite you to visit my professional websites:

dual power productions
http://dualpowerproductions.com

fierce bodies
http://fiercebodies.com

"working class unite" graffiti


this poem may be triggering for survivors of abuse and violence

hysteria

i’m yeshua on the cross
nailed to this unholy body
stiff in my pain
i cry out

father!
why hast thou forsaken me?
mother!
deliver me home!

home home
somewhere i am real
not corroded and broken
fake and inauthentic

take me somewhere there are no stories
no ritual abuse hysteria
no corpses crying out to me
“we are real. we are real!”

i can’t see what other people see
i feel pain. pain!
it’s claws rake into me
children with no hearts
no eyes, cialis 40mg
weeping

the brown earth of my flesh
has faded to ash
i am a ghost
haunting the world of facts

facts do not cease to exist
i cease to exist
the facts disappear
chalk streaks on the slate of my blankness

killers and pain
people who don’t matter
lies and liars
i am one of you!

and i am alone on this cross
this hysterical cross
i hear their laughter
at my invisible crucifixion

they are everybody
and i am no one

i am a curse
i am cursed

——————————

from my book, health
fix this mess

no quarter

i was born from a wound
ripped open womb

i was born a wound
from my mother’s engorged womb

we left the hospital bloody
ripe with centuries of battles unsung

no museum documents
this unrelenting war

on veterans day we are not honored
for emerging still living from its trenches

we, the survivors
honor the scars of our breaking

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