cripchick's blog

my throat is still burning
my skin still seething
my bones still outraged

that white cop still won’t get more than 2-4 years and
involuntary manslaughter is still
considered
“progress”

our bodies our blood our babies
still means nothing
to nobody and

oscar grant in oakland
sean bell in new york
kenmara ‘k-roc’ davis in fayetteville, nc
they’re all
still dead.

i’ll scream it again & again—

no matter how eager, how radical, how cute you are

i do not exist for your fancy of freakery.

i could care less about feeding your taste for exotic flavors. i was not born to stroke your fascination of marginalized people.

no matter how much you are learning, no matter how much power/money/influence you carry, no matter how much you always know the right things to say,

my body is not for you to examine, conquer, or casually observe
as if the strands of my hair were nothing more than pages of a magazine

the creator did not craft these hands, lungs, feet of mine so you can feel good about yourself. my issues are not for you to solve.

who said you could analyze me? i am not a hobby, a project, a case study

nor will i ever be a pet to collect
in that menagerie of yours

instead i am harriet tubman using her disability to trick slavemasters, survey lands, and carve out paths to freedom
i am the spear waiting in datu lapu lapu’s right hand, standing with thousands ready to slice the colonizer’s head off of magellan’s body
i am the body casts frida kahlo painted on
i am the freedom song my joseon ancestors sung, the taegukis wrapped around their foreheads as they demanded an end to tyranny

no matter how quick i was to hand you this hard-earned self-determination in the past, know that from now on, you are being watched. vigilantly.

flip it, spit it out in a poem, brand it on the tip
of your tongue
do whatever you have to do
to remember

a friend and i have been having conversations about how hard we have been finding organizing to be lately. like, make-you-hate-yourself hard. energy-sucking hard. questioning-your-every-ability hard. i am happy to learn that september was the month mercury was in retrograde, that maybe it was the universe or something that we could not control that made us all treat each other like that.

that friend and i have been talking about what working in a community where everyone is coming from an extreme place of vulnerability looks like. like if vulnerability is a spectrum, it’s no joke, so many of us in core leadership roles are way down on one end of it. with parents, family members or best friends that we can’t tell we’re queer to. caught and trapped in systems. homeless. brushed aside. left behind. dealing with abuse/ being in abusive situations. creepin’. stuck. disability, the silence around it, the lack of people who actually get us, can be so isolating.  we come to this space where we have access and get to be ourselves — at least for a weekend here, a weekend there—and damn if we aren’t scared as hell to lose it. damn if we don’t whip out all the survival weapons we have hiding under our clothes. damn if we don’t secretly keep our finger on the trigger ready to shoot, not even knowing that’s what we are doing, not even knowing that we are working from a place of insecurity. vulnerability.

or at least it’s like that for me. i am left thinking of all the ways our actions are motivated by insecurity. fear of loneliness. loss of community.  maybe i keep waking up and finding myself in these relationships and friendships that aren’t working because i am scared of being so so so alone. that i can’t take any more isolation or longing. maybe the reason you are so angry with me is because you don’t trust me not to leave you, not to spit on everything you have poured into this friendship.  when i do something small, it ruffles up all these feelings, hits our histories— that gut feeling in you—and soon we all look like the enemy you have been taught to shoot at.

know that we have to be more gentle. more intentional. more aware. just am not sure yet how to put that into practice.

any ideas?