cripchick's blog

another shapeshifter living among the digital masses
  • scissors
    November 21st, 2009cripchickAPI-A, identity, intersections, women of color, writing/poetry

    i watch as she slips, slides and slithers through systems
    digesting all your identities
    for dinner
    smile so slick, her pretty two forked tongue
    draws you in while worlds sit
    silently in the pit
    of her belly

    we did not ask for this—she changes shape again—but it doesn’t matter does it?
    she pauses for a moment and smiles a knowing smile
    “ah cham neh! shapeshifting is in your blood but you’re so young i bet you do not even know when you are doing it
    talking some masters’ tools will never dismantle the masters’ house shit while negotiating in meetings with people whose only interest is in silencing you
    but it’s okay sis, we do that to survive
    you are the one that got a chance when no one else did
    just swallow them up and know that’s what you are:
    a shapeshifter”

    i sit with her quietly as she holds her child against her chest, writing at the table
    writing is a record of her stories, an account of all the characters she’s played,
    the only way she can remember who she is
    “it all gets lost so easily, the different people society want me to be”

    this time i am the one smiling knowingly.

  • scissors

    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

  • scissors

    the more i sit in your meetings
    participate in your organizations
    wake up next to you
    shake hands with you, make deals with you
    love you

    the more i become an expert

    in your don’t knows

    like

    you don’t know how to sit in a circle
    so you plant yourself
    in the middle

    you don’t know who you are
    instead you imitate my hair my clothes my art my food
    my tongue my skin color,
    even my soap operas

    and it must be that no one has ever taught you
    how to use a library card
    because you don’t know how clueless you look
    expecting your earnesty
    to be compensation for my time

    by now i am an over-qualified over-educated expert in the field of your don’t knows
    where’s my degree? my big house? my fancy research job?
    i’ve earned it

    let me guess
    you don’t know..

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