there is nothing here for me
there is nothing here for me
Time punctures generations skin
Weaving threads of inherited trauma into woman’s bone
There is a man with blood on his teeth
Smiling down at the patchwork of pain
I sever him methodically.
He watches me feed his body to the starved pigs,
both eyes, one, ghost eyes, none.
It’s the end of the year
I am hunting cosmopolitan sales,
while girls are hunted under fear stained sheets.
The coming year will pass me by in a flurry of pages, stories, statistics.
The yellow-eyed patriots will continue to assert Empire abroad, militarizing broken states.
Collapsing mosques, homes, lungs.
Fingers pulsing on triggers, pulsing hearts and last pulses lingering
suspended in finite breaths,
breathing in polverized
life turned to dust, death.
War will not ravage Amerikkkan soil next year–
that would alter predestined first world trends.
The cadence of bombs won’t clamp my brothers throats in their sleep, they’ll continue to dream in kind colors.
One will start school and learn about the vastness of the world.
I will not tell him how many bodies lie under the Mediterranean Sea.
I will not point to the places on the atlas where hatred burns holes,
indicating generations of oblivion.
My bloodline will remain intact,
we will still exist, like this.
My contemporaries won’t break the cycle of silence,
they will sneer at my urgency.
Stuffing their faces in bourgeois feed , interweb validation, sedating distractions, purple noise.
How to jostle this world out of obsessive greed?
World leaders concede to massacres abroad, meddling in coups while bruised babies wonder across sister’s breast, if their father’s leg is really missing, if mother will come back having escaped the bloodthirsty grip of the agent of state, with his grim face, with his haunting grace.
I awake in the night screaming for Aleppo and Screaming for Palestinia and Screaming for
I inherit broken Nicaragua, where my mother screamed as her grandmother collapsed screaming where the same Entity, Concept, Government massacred my revolution poised uncles and raped the women who make me possible here now.
I trace my hands, I calm the electricity in my bones…existing…still.
Holding close the memory of the children, and women, and the frightened since hate’s origin
Holding close the places where timelines bury bloodlines
Where pachamama prematurely swallows her children back into the ground lifetimes and time again.
There is no song to sing tonight, there is no rhythm to soothe the panic in my lungs
Liminal spirits wander our plane, friends.
My sisters and brothers are screaming.
Flesh in fire
Conclude another year.
enough with the bruised chest
with the walking carcass
maybe if I endeavor in this American dream
and internalize this crippling American ethos
I will what? Bask in consumerism?
even here that case would be a monument!
how lucky you’d be!
“considering your circumstances….”
considering my skin? do you consider my skin?
my physical will always be considered initially
my metaphysics capture only those who listen closely
a god-complex to contrast the hate aimed at every breath you continue to take
with your bruised chest
enough with the bruised chest
the walking carcass
the bawling baffoon
my fruit is not yours to take
it is mine, it belongs to me
you snatched it in a moment of false opportunity
this fruit is not yours to take
my round cherub face
and the blue over my eyes
are not an invitation for my virtue’s demise
this fruit is not yours to take
I want to skin all thieves alive
what gave you the right?
it doesn’t matter how late it was at night
who gave you the right?
now I can’t sleep at night
my knees keep shaking
everyone keeps asking if i’m alright
and I die a little inside
how can I confess that I was in a moment of rest
that I thought I was safe
that another thought I was theirs to take
I wore my jim morrison shirt to my weekend trip to the psych ward
This escapade turned out to be a week long movie
Of drugged up kids with fucked up shit that’d happened to them
Like, there was a girl who was raped by her uncle multiple times but no one listened until her skin was purple
And there was a boy who’d get beat by his dad every day and had to get out of the psych ward to make sure his little brother wouldn’t get beat by his dad every day
There was also someone who’d swallowed 7 blades, it wasn’t their first time there
Upon my arrival a ten year old greeted me by reciting a poem I knew
“Your family hates you and your friends watch you bleed” it went
I’d be okay, according to her. she was getting out that day.
I remember the grayness of the place and the timely activities
I remember the slashes on everyone’s arms, teen angst what it do
I remember the desolation covered up by criminally high doses of medication assigned by some ex-hippie pseudo children’s mental psychologist bloke who had only 30 seconds a day with us
you see, he had to get out of there and go spend his salary
I couldn’t speak much
I didn’t care, obviously
I’d literally failed at failing
(to off myself) in case this wasn’t already clear
New and distraught adolescents came and went
I befriended the introverts as I usually do
President sarah they called me
It was probably the toxicity of high school politics that put me in the sanatorium in the first place but hey, president sarah of the undead dead
holler at your 21st century hamlet
There was a girl and her name was violet
She heard me singing heaven knows I’m miserable now and joined in
She saw me reading lolita and so I snuck into her room and we deciphered why we were in the loony bin in the first place
Though its quite reasonable, considering the way we see the world or
The trauma that we inherited from our parental units
Or maybe it was the wisdom our bodies were too small to hold
Maybe we weren’t held enough as children
Then there was michael
his voice dripped of such devastation and frank discomfort of being
Naturally I gravitated toward him
We were good friends even after the post-psych shit
That by the way fucks people worst than when they get there
There are many lost little souls I met in the valley of my existence there
I wish I could immortalize them all
They’re either keeping on or dead
And I wish I could tell them they should stay
Even in a world that doesn’t ask them to
There’s a demagogue running for president!
There’s a former Ku Klux Klan member running for Senate!
Klan? What do these senile, sadists know about Clanism?
About camaraderie, community, and compassion
Riveting stories around the fire, rites of passage, pueblos
Your neighbors party that the whole block is invited to
No, not your company’s annual continental breakfast
Or your sister’s husband’s tennis partner’s niece’s cotillion
Where are you from?
Who’s sorry womb relinquishes your existence?
And former? An ideal like that?
This rhetoric is the byproduct of unearthed wound
That has been festering for centuries
In this new found land and all the ones before it
Of human greed and natural darkness
That seeps into the mere mortal’s mind
And most still walk around like tombs
There is no justification for the violation of
For white nazi supremacy
For the submissive nature
In the people of colour
You tyrants lust for
Aztec blood pulsates through my body
This consciousness is home to earth’s first realizations
Your ancestors have disowned you
You are in the earthly void when your
only claim is hate
Does my brown skin make you anxious?
The thing with you,
Is that you associate my people with the primitive
Because we don’t care for cosmopolitan excess
Because our success doesn’t manifest into your
Cubicled idea of existence
There is a love so rich that resides in my motherland bred people
My bruised and bled, back bent atlas of a people
In two decades of existence
My body has always been synonymous to the inferior
My mind embraced by shackles placed
as soon as the first human claimed dominion over their brother
It seems we haven’t learned since
I grew up guilt ridden and tired
Most times I forget that I can explain this guilt, if I date it back in time enough
and that it does not belong to me
But it lives in your present day media, America
You never did give up that eurocentric fetish did you?
It lives in your educational institutions America
How you breed your faux progressives at coastal schools of thought
How you coddle your precipice millennials in your brand name religiously established schools
I spit on your soil
But then I go to Europe and that place is a fuckng circus
They’re running out of arable soil, naturally
And our third world?
I heard in Thailand you still have to assert your superiority to the monkeys
Or they’ll kill you in your sleep
I also heard little asian girls and boys are abducted in their sleep to be part of the–
Ohhh you guessed it America
Your little side project in Vietnam, Korea, Thailand, Malaysia, Cambodia
Your soldiers, multinational corporations, and diplomat’s
There is so much to revise, to create
I fear the anticlimaticacy of my species
I feel I have developed a comprehension and responsibility
To make the complacent uncomfortable
To take little cherubs under my wing
And unclothe the God that is their essence
Above this noise
This horrible noise
This dangerous noise that wants to build walls
Though people always tear them down
This dangerous noise that has a face
But it isn’t the one we see on TV
Or in the paper
It’s the one in the back of your head
In all of our heads
That’s caused holocausts, genocides, the guillotine
That ambushes humble villages with tanks
And, to be anticlimactic myself, and perhaps have given my contemporaries
no possible reassurance or silver lined solution.
I just wish to be alive when this whole place rebirths in Anarchy.
Well I wonder
If the uncertainty ever recedes
The sunshine bounces
The sunshine dances on
I go places looking for someone
Finding only a variation
Of the complacency I already
Do you know what it’s like to
Carry the trauma of your
To lament of their demise
Hold every record of 5th realm realization