liber the poet

in my mind, there are two Gods:

the first, the One i knew
and grew with;
the One i loved from so young.
He, who i ripped apart books for,
who i prayed to for other people’s salvation
who i surrendered my soul to again
and again
without realizing the cost. (i asked
to be a victim soul, Lord,
i take it back.
i take ME back.)

the last time i prayed to Him and really meant it
i fell asleep and woke
with dead family.
we haven’t spoken since, except in shouts
or maybe
whispers.

the second i am learning.
have been learning, in this school of mine.
these theologies newer than the ones i was raised in:
liberation.
feminist.
queer.
the One i encountered in the Holy Land
bright and sacred and holy holy holy

they tell me this Holy One is kinder than i have been taught.
that my sin did not earn the Son’s death, but rather
the Son loved so much
He was put to death; but resurrected in love’s ultimate triumph.
that this is a Creator for the oppressed, the heartsick
this is a Deity for Justice and Love.

but these Gods are the same Man (and He feels
like Man, still, though God ought to have no gender)
and i cannot love the Savior without encountering
the Judge.

Please,
Take this cup from me.
Let me love You in a way that is uncomplicated

or else

let me be released from the guilt i feel is your judgement
let me free to find something Holy
i don’t have to burn myself to love.

—  tongues of fire (or living water?) by Drea Onzagle
‘Person of Color’

I was shocked the first time I heard it in real life.
As if I was hearing someone repeat a paper written by a kkk member.

I am Mexican, a Hispanic; not a ‘person of color’.
My native ancestors were persecuted for their religion during la Conquesta.
As were my Catholic ancestors, during la guerra Christera.
Neither died as martyrs to be belittled to ‘martyrs’ of color’.

My veins are both rich in Native and Spanish blood,
I refuse to let that be forgotten and replaced with a term, as insulting as: ‘colored blood’.

My skin as white as the snow that falls onto Spainish land during winter. My eyes as dark as the bark on trees in my country, my hair as black as the coal found under my native Mexico.
I refuse to let that be forgotten, and recognized as simply ‘colored traits’.

My last name is a Spanish last name, which I carry as proudly as my first name: A Nahuatl name.
Which is a constant reminder of who I am, and where I come from. I refuse to let my name ever be considered just ‘colored name’.

I am a Mexican, a Hispanic, and I refuse to let that be stripped away and forgotten under a term like ‘person of color’.

-csm
impulsivityy.tumblr.com

We have made love humanity’s greatest foe,
Desensitized by how much we are willing to accept.
Poverty? OK. Airstrikes in the Middle East? OK. A 12 Gauge pump shotgun in the hand of a child–
OK, whether in the form of a controller or out of a parent’s locked up safe.


You’ve heard of toddlers dead
And of adolescent women forcefully bred,
And it may be a bother, but it’s in one ear and right out the other until you begin to wonder why–
And then you smother yourself in lies.


Just World Bias—Good only happens to good.
Just World Bias—Bad only happens to the wicked.
Just World Bias—He’s unemployed because he’s lazy.
Just World Bias—She was raped for dressing slutty.


Over and over we’re told “Work and Work Hard and you will succeed.”
But they don’t tell us some kids since birth
Are bent at the knees
And chained to the ground by color or wealth
Getting out of the hole that their poor health has built,
Working harder than you, more than you’d ever know,
Because while you’re on your throne,
They’re still in that hole, with nowhere to go.


The cup is neither half full nor half empty,
There are two cups of opportunity
Distributed unequally amongst society,
And there dies the American Dream!


It’s not Survival of the Fittest
It’s Survival of the Privileged.


Is it fair?
No, the Theory is rigged,
When parents can’t support their kids,
When kids support their families,
When we’re counting on anomalies
To prove we have equality.


How come it is that in order to have a voice you have to have experience,
But in order to be heard you have to be what is called “educated?”
I am the latter,
The one more likely to be listened to,


So let me be heard.


Let me speak on the behalf of the starving children who could be fed by the money spent on stopping the gays from being wed.
Let me speak on the behalf of loving faith washed over by radical extremist hate,
Let me speak on the behalf of the mother who wasn’t taught about birth control and is now giving birth to a child she’s expected to have that she can’t afford.


I AM PRIVILEGED!


My education has been top notch since I was born,
And while I may be smart,
And while I’ve played my part,
Working hard
What they don’t teach you in school
When you grow up like me is
About how important it is that you get
Dealt the right cards.


Hard work sculpts the world of the American
But we spend so little time on trying to make the world work.
And that’s the problem.


I speak, and I speak, and by now you’re probably only half listening.
Or if you’ll hear me, you’ll dismiss it,
While you’re missing the point.
It’s not survival of the fittest, it’s survival of the privileged.
Money rules all and we all have to live with—I QUIT!
If the people of this country are satisfied with a meme on Tumblr or a rant on the comment section of Facebook–
If the people of America do not stand up and fight their apathetic ways,
Then not even the government,
Not even the pope,
And not even your God can fix us.

— 

@wingsofdarkdeception​ (N. A. CIRA)

This poem is called Survival of the Privileged. With what has happened recently in Charlottesville, I felt like I had to share this again. I have been inspired to write more poetry about social justice. I will share more once I have written them.

*LIBERATED* 

I might have grown
Even though I don’t feel like that at all
I still find myself
Laughing at things grown-ups will not
That’s because I’ve got you
And I need you to know one simple truth
None of us is perfect
I make mistakes too
And while I will watch you grow
Know that
I’ve been there before

Cause we all were young once
We might’ve lost it on the way
Don’t lose the energy that grows inside
Be the one who spreads the love all the way
And don’t you ever forget
Those who truly cared
Those who loved
And cried with you
Those whose arms are open wide
So that you
can always run into.

How to defy Donald tRump:
Donate to standing rock. They could use water, blankets, canned food might be good.

If you’re gay be open about it, as long as it’s safe to do so.

If you’re straight then be the best ally you can. especially if you’re white, you’re at less of a risk so you have the power to be a little more radical.

That also goes for white people. We’re not at the same risk as poc, so we need to stand by our poc friends. Stand in front of the gun at protests if you have to. Police are less likely to shoot you.Shop at locally owned businesses, and by fair trade products if you can. He’s big business, it’ll really get under his skin.Christians should show their support for jewish, muslim, and other religions. If anti-semitic and islamophobic people are constantly confronted with non christians in their everyday lives they’ll be forced to admit they’re just people, not terrorists, and not less than anyone else.Don’t ever put up with bigots, I mean be incredibly, publicly, pissed off when you have a run in with a small minded conservative.Punch a Nazi in the face, it’s very americanTeachers should talk about issues in their classrooms. Students should ask their teachers to talk about it.make art. I mean write slam poetry about these issues, make political cartoons that expose Donald and his cabinet for what they are. Journalists, wether it’s for a blog, a magazine, a local newspaper, keep up to date with things and spread the news like wildfire. Plus, if Donald can’t be bothered with an original cake then he’ll hate to see a constant flow of original work.Donate to planned parenthood. He wants to defund it, we’ll just see about that.Never stop spreading news about the achievements of poc. Mikaila Ulmer, the black girl with the lemonade deal, she if infinitely more important than donald

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves — goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I dó is me: for that I came.

I say móre: the just man justices;
Keeps grace: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is —
Chríst — for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men’s faces.

—  Gerard Manley Hopkins, A Kingfisher’s Catch Fire
What the MTMTE comics have taught me about the evolution of Megatron
  • Pre-War Megatron: a liberal anti-war lower-class poet (a pretty good one according to Cyclonus) idealistically hoping for a non-violent end to prejudice and tyranny.
  • Start of Deception Movement Megatron: Grieving the loss of his mentor/(boyfriend? Depends how you read it) disillusioned with non-violent protest, ready to make a point.
  • War Megatron: A shit fest. Bad guy, but also a bad person. Murder and murder and more murder like actually wipes out planets it's ridiculous hundreds of billions of life forms died because of him. Nasty stuff.
  • Post-War Megatron: a bitter old man suffering as he realises the mistakes in his revolution and has to deal with Rodimus. Blames Optimus for everything, like constantly. Is trying his best to find the version of himself he lost in the mines. Doesn't deserve forgiveness but is trying to change his legacy.
2

When they started giving Purple Hearts to soldiers who committed friendly fire?

If never

Why those who admit they’ve done it
Now get put on pedestals that are higher

I mean
How we,
Go from catching bodies bout a week ago
To then ,all of the sudden catching feelings

Was it cuz,
the hand that deserves the credit wasn’t the same complexion
Or is it the crabs in the bucket are the only ones in competition
Yet by whose composition
Has us written off or down as only victims

Never included that this too is part of the system

Blacks say “black on black"crime is just called that because the black community is where we living

Yet, we are the only community that Praises the soul that spits his confession in rhythm

Yet the sound of the one two is just the foot steps of those shuffling along
I dare a nigha to step out of line and look at the system

See no difference between the cop and thug
Besides one just has permission
The other thinks this is just the rules of living

You probably still can’t see the difference

There is none
Besides one does 25 to life
The other does 25 retires and adds extra stripes
Both slaves to master
We just get hung at different heights

So
I caught body bout a week ago
Yet nobody knows who did it
Scream at the police to release the name
Yet in our hood there’s no snitching

We went from hands pulling finger triggers
To hands up don’t shoot
Not realizing the finger motions don’t mean shit
Cuz we been playing like we had tools

Now who’s building

Besides project buildings
That feel just like home
Cuz I
just got out of prison

Remember I caught a body bout week ago
Went to jail bout a week ago
Got bodied became someone’s bitch bout a week ago
Aint a damn body came seen me or write
For bout a week a so

Came home saw my five year old son singing
I caught a body bout a week ago
Already knows to keep hoes in a trap house
What happen to sand box?
It was all good just a week ago!

(To be continued……)

#imjustfreetalking