Guante

“Mamá, Papá… Soy Adoptado.”

“Mamá, papá… soy adoptado.”

Mis padres pararon lo que estaban haciendo. Mi madre, adornada con un collar de perlas, estaba de pie. Sus manos se escondían bajo un par de guantes de horno y un delantal a juego. Su precioso vestido añil hacía brillar el azul de sus ojos. Cerró el horno y se quitó los guantes, revelando una manicura perfectamente cuidada.

Mi padre colocó su pipa en la mesa y cerró su libro. Su pelo, con tan solo un toque de gris, estaba inmaculado como siempre. Llevaba una camisa a cuadros y una suave chaqueta de punto. Se quitó las gafas de lectura para mirarme a la cara.

Casi al unísono preguntaron.

“¿Por qué, querido?” “¿Qué te hace pensar eso, hijo?”

Yo estaba de pie ante ellos. Pantalones de color caqui apretados, mi camisa abotonada metida dentro, con mi cinturón y zapatos a juego. Me sentí como ellos, pero a la vez diferente.

“Yo sólo… lo sé.” Traté de sonar confiado, pero en ese momento, mi confianza se perdió por la pubescencia.

“No seas ridículo.” Mi padre estaba bajo la luz de nuestra cocina perfectamente iluminada. Me puso las manos en los hombros y me miró a los ojos. “Tú eres nuestro chico y te queremos.”

Estudié las líneas de su rostro buscando no, suplicando por una mentira, pero no había ninguna.

“Siéntate, querido.” Mi madre interrumpió comprobando el horno. “La cena está casi lista.”

Me senté a nuestra mesa de madera pulida y coloqué mi servilleta en mi regazo, un viejo hábito de la escuela de etiqueta. Sentí que mis ojos se humedecían.

“¿Estáis seguros?” Pregunte, mirando fijamente el lugar vacío sobre la mesa donde pronto estaría mi comida.

Mi madre colocó los platos preparados ante mi padre y yo. Dijo una breve oración y comencé a comer el asado y las patatas que mi madre había preparado con esmero.

“Positivo.” Dijo él, saboreando su mordisco y limpiándose sus labio.

Mi madre se sentó finalmente con su plato en el otro lado de la mesa a mi izquierda y agarró mi mano. “Eres nuestro bebé.” Dijo, mirándome a los ojos y asegurandome que yo era su descendencia, “Ahora, hablemos de otra cosa, no has saludado a nuestra invitada.”

Mis ojos y mi rostro estaban húmedos y rojos. Miré a través de la mesa. La mujer ante mí estaba atada a su silla. Las cuerdas corrían de su garganta a sus pies impidiéndole cualquier movimiento. Su boca estaba tapada herméticamente con una cinta adhesiva y su cabeza se había desplomado hacia adelante.

El único miembro que no estaba atado era su brazo derecho. No era por bondad bondad, sino más bien porque ya era innecesario. Su brazo derecho había sido cortado por debajo del hombro. La sangre seguía derramándose a pesar de los pobres vendajes y empapando su cuerpo de color rojo oscuro. Sus ojos habían quedado en blanco tras perder la consciencia por el dolor extremo que acababa de soportar. Mis padres compartieron una carcajada y sazonaron la carne.

Miré todo de nuevo y sollocé con un susurro…

“Por favor, decirme que soy adoptado.”


Fuente Original (en Inglés): "Mom, Dad… I’m Adopted.” por SamMarduk

youtube

Guante - “Ten Responses to the Phrase ‘Man Up’ ”

“We teach boys how to wear the skin of a man, but we also teach them how to raise that skin like a flag and draw blood for it.”

Two-time National Poetry Slam champion Guante, performing at Madame in Minneapolis.

youtube

Guante - “REACH”

“Don’t paint my house white and tell me it’s heaven. Don’t bring me a sack of beans and tell me they’re magic. Bring me magic.”

Two-time NPS champion Guante, performing at the Saint Paul Soap Boxing Poetry Slam.

youtube

“That one tiny gesture that might not have changed anything, but might have.”

Revisiting this poem in the present context. On one level, yes, it’s about men’s responsibility to take the fight against rape culture into spaces where it doesn’t already exist, which was important before the election and remains important now. But this is also a poem grappling with the concept of “allyship,” and how if that word is ever going to mean anything real, it needs to be critical, proactive, and preemptive. Thinking about how that applies, right now, to the fights against Islamophobia, anti-immigrant violence, anti-LGBTQ violence, and so much more too. (video via @buttonpoetry)

youtube

The poem that started my obsession…

Guante - “Ten Responses to the Phrase, ‘Man Up’”

7

i loved that (headcanon? au???) ab Dom being Wander and Hater’s daugther :’3c (probably adopted tho) so I drew shit like always

idk i think Wander would be rlly overprotective 

youtube

Guante - “Quicksand” (Saint Paul Poetry Slam)

“My third response, upon stumbling by chance upon a man neck deep in quicksand, is obviously to recite a poem. To throw some spirit energy his way. To describe, out loud, just how heavy my heart is.”

Performing at the September 2014 Soap Boxing Poetry Slam. Subscribe to Button on YouTube!

youtube

TEN RESPONSES TO THE PHRASE “MAN UP.”

1. Fuck you.

2. If you want to question my masculinity, like a schoolyard circle of curses, like a swordfight with lightsaber erections, save your breath. Because contrary to what you may believe, not every problem can be solved by “growing a pair.” You can’t arm-wrestle your way out of chemical depression. The CEO of the company that just laid you off does not care how much you bench. And I promise, there is no lite beer in the universe full-bodied enough to make you love yourself.

3. Man up? Oh that’s that new superhero, right? Mild-mannered supplement salesman Mark Manstrong says the magic words “MAN UP,” and then transforms into THE FIVE O’CLOCK SHADOW, the massively-muscled, deep-voiced, black-leather-duster-wearing superhero who defends the world from, I don’t know, feelings.

4. See I don’t drink a lot of beer… you know, because I’m not a “real man,” but I’m pretty sure that, of all the beers in the world, Miller Lite… is not the most flavorful brew. It kind of tastes like… whatever insecure jackass wrote these “man up” commercials got rejected by a beautiful, no-nonsense bartender, drank a six pack of REAL beer alone in his apartment, and then Miller bottled his tears.

5. You ever notice how nobody ever says “woman up?” They just imply it. Because women and the women’s movement figured out a long time ago that being directly ordered around by commercials, magazines and music is dehumanizing. When will men figure that out?

6. “Man Up” assaults our self esteem by suggesting that competence and perseverance are uniquely masculine traits. That women—not to mention any man who doesn’t eat steak, drive a pickup truck, have lots of sex with women and otherwise conform to gender norms absolutely—are nothing more than, background characters and props in a movie where the strong, stoic, REAL man is the hero. More than anything, though, it suggests that to be yourself—whether you, wear skinny jeans, listen to Lady Gaga, rock a little eyeliner, drink some other brand of light beer, or write poetry—will cost you.

7. How many boys have to kill themselves before this country acknowledges the problem? How many women have to be abused? How many trans people have to get assaulted? We teach boys how to wear the skin of a man, but we also teach them how to raise that skin like a flag and draw blood for it.

8. Boy babies get blue socks. Girl babies get pink socks. What about purple? What about orange, yellow, chartreuse, cerulean, black, tie-dyed, buffalo plaid, rainbow… there are so many beautiful colors and combinations of colors. Yet boy babies get blue socks. And girl babies get pink socks.

9. I want to be free, to express myself. Man up. I want to have meaningful, emotional relationships with other men. Man up. I want to be weak sometimes. Man up. I want to be strong in a way that isn’t about physical power or dominance. Man up. I want to cry if I feel like crying. Man up. I want to ask for help. Man up. I want to be who I am. Man up.

10. No.

Ten Responses To The Phrase “Man Up”:

1. Fuck you.

2. If you want to question my masculinity, like a schoolyard circle of curses, like a sword fight with light saber erections, save your breath. Because contrary to what you may believe, not every problem can be solved by “growing a pair.” You can’t arm-wrestle your way out of chemical depression. The CEO of the company that just laid you off does not care how much you bench. And I promise, there is no lite beer in the universe full-bodied enough to make you love yourself.

3. Man up? Oh that’s that new superhero, right? Mild-mannered supplement salesman Mark Manstrong says the magic words “MAN UP,” and then transforms into THE FIVE O’CLOCK SHADOW, the massively-muscled, deep-voiced, black-leather-duster-wearing superhero who defends the world from, I don’t know, feelings.

4. See I don’t drink a lot of beer… you know, because I’m not a “real man,” but I’m pretty sure that, of all the beers in the world, Miller Lite… is not the most flavorful brew. It kind of tastes like… whatever insecure jackass wrote these “man up” commercials got rejected by a beautiful, no-nonsense bartender, drank a six pack of REAL beer alone in his apartment, and then Miller bottled his tears.

5. You ever notice how nobody ever says “woman up?” They just imply it. Because women and the women’s movement figured out a long time ago that being directly ordered around by commercials, magazines and music is dehumanizing. When will men figure that out?

6. “Man Up” assaults our self esteem by suggesting that competence and perseverance are uniquely masculine traits. That women—not to mention any man who doesn’t eat steak, drive a pickup truck, have lots of sex with women and otherwise conform to gender norms absolutely—are nothing more than, background characters and props in a movie where the strong, stoic, REAL man is the hero. More than anything, though, it suggests that to be yourself—whether you, wear skinny jeans, listen to Lady Gaga, rock a little eyeliner, drink some other brand of light beer, or write poetry—will cost you.

7. How many boys have to kill themselves before this country acknowledges the problem? How many women have to be abused? How many trans people have to get assaulted? We teach boys how to wear the skin of a man, but we also teach them how to raise that skin like a flag and draw blood for it.

8. Boy babies get blue socks. Girl babies get pink socks. What about purple? What about orange, yellow, chartreuse, cerulean, black, tie-dyed, buffalo plaid, rainbow… there are so many beautiful colors and combinations of colors. Yet boy babies get blue socks. And girl babies get pink socks.

9. I want to be free, to express myself. Man up. I want to have meaningful, emotional relationships with other men. Man up. I want to be weak sometimes. Man up. I want to be strong in a way that isn’t about physical power or dominance. Man up. I want to cry if I feel like crying. Man up. I want to ask for help. Man up. I want to be who I am. Man up.

10. No.

—  Guante
youtube

Guante - “Consent at 10,000 Feet”

“Have you ever had sex while skydiving?  Like, where you talk about consent the same way you talk about wearing a parachute, no grey areas, no assumptions.  Like, ‘I’m pretty sure I’m wearing a parachute.’  No questions.”

Guante, performing at the March 2015 Saint Paul Poetry Slam.  Subscribe to Button on YouTube!