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

Liberation Day

Today, on my island, is a pretty important day. The ninth of May is the day we celebrate our freedom from the Nazi occupation of the Channel Islands, there’s a huge celebration in town and street parties elsewhere, an outdoor concert and a cavalcade and a firework display. This is the last time I’m going to be here for Liberation Day, at least for a few years, and I wanted to write something to show my love for our Sarnia cherie.


There were helicopters overhead;
You saw them from the pier.
You asked me where they came from
And why they’d flown out here,
We’re an ocean away from the rest of the world
And we’re usually safe from the skies;
And I gave you a smile as we heard the old songs,
And I looked to the path that the aeroplane flies.

This afternoon, I said, there’ll be
A revel in market square.
And everyone you know and love,
You’ll see them all down there.
It’s a birthday celebration, of sorts,
For an island reborn safe and free;
The brass band will play and the choirs will sing:
To our beautiful Sarnia cherie.

So hang up your bunting and wave us your flag,
Wear red, white and noble gold.
It won’t be too long ‘til the fireworks start
We’ll all lift our heads and behold.
Whatever the future may bring to us here,
You know that you always can say
That every year you walked down the pier
And danced for Liberation Day.

my appetite has returned
after years and years
of getting force fed aspersions
from a begrimed spoon
my skin is regenerating
after being torn to shreds
by your malicious fingers
and the demons in my head
that speak in your voice
it feels amazing
to be free–
free of revilement
free of abasement
and free of you


-extrication 5/7

you wake up to the sun shining,
i stare into the sun setting,
across the globe,
you are going here and there,
while i’m here still waiting;
it’s unfair how daytime is longer,
because it means more time to linger;
you’re going on without me,
i’m stuck here trying to be free;
twenty four hours a day, twelve for evening,
but i still barely sleep during nighttime
‘cause i still always end up crying;
when another day starts, your day ends
but how come you always start anew
while i’m still at the same point, 
waiting to watch the sunrise with you

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 I look into the sky,
feel the cold, blowing wind,
and watch the stars die,
I can’t help but wonder;
we’re under the same heavens,
yet, being without you feels like hell;
we’re breathing the same air,
yet, when you’re around my breath shortens.

Perhaps, we’re a mishap,
we’re a travesty, 
a bittersweet serendipity.
Away is what we ought to be;
we’re two opposite people,
but we’re also two repelling poles.

I cannot understand.
I cannot fathom.
I cannot make sense from here and beyond.

—  lm ✨
Ganesha

I recently moved into a new house

I recently moved into a new body

The two work as one and connect only to disconnect

As the years – weeks – days erode and fade away, I choke on every memory that haunts me

Its time for some spring cleaning, cleanse my mind

Cleanse these hands that hold so much anger

Cleanse these feet that carry every negative dream.

This is the only way I can get it out

The only way I can get it out to you

Habits.

Habits.

the repetition of loose thoughts

the repetition of fragmented words

Discrimination comes from within, its easy to see

Its more of a curse

Easily manipulated, we all know how to stand in a single file line

I refuse to be like them

I refuse to be like you

With feelings tossed to the side, there will always be a winner

There will always be a loser

This is exactly how we have become so undone

The knot that society has tangled us in

Insecurities multiply every day

Security is only used as protection for the evil

I hope that you hear me, but chances are

you wont.

Now, lets remove these obstacles

silence and solitude
has never tasted so sweet,
finally able
to hear my own thoughts
my own voice,
once muffled
repressed
inaudible
i can speak how i feel
without worrying of ways
i would set you off
or anticipate the worst
and i am thankful
for stumbling upon the realization
that i am worth
more than you think


-toxic 5/1

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.
Seventy-five Cents

Put your makeup on,
But not too much
Don’t be caked, look natural
But have the perfect body
Seventy five cents

Close your legs
Shut your mouth, go get married
But don’t be a gold digger,
Just make me a sandwhich.
Seventy five cents


Stay at home, raise your kids
The choice isn’t yours-
It’s my body.
Murder is murder
I was rap- murder is murder.
No uterus no opinion
You still fight for basic human rights
But no matter how many months you bleed
You will be forced to accept
That it is a man’s world
And your decision is not your decision


There’s no such thing as victim blaming.
You were asking for it.
No means no!
shh!
close your lids.
Seventy five cents


It was ninety minutes of action.
It was your fault.
Don’t drink too much,
don’t put yourself in that position
Don’t be vulnerable,
because you’ll be the first to be blamed
Unconscious-unaware-unresponsive-unable
to say no-
Traumatized.
but denied the simple right of justice,
Because Brock is a white man.
And you are Eve,
Seventy five cents


Watch what you wear, At school and the workplace Don’t you dare distract the males from their work because all you are is a pretty face Seventy five cents
You are overly sexualized at a young age and because of this screwed up system, to every boy, you are seen as nothing but a toy. “grab her by the-” Yes Mr. President.
What’s on your shoulders doesn’t really matter, “as long as you have a nice piece of ass” and if you’re upset and tired or simply opinionated, it is going to be assumed that there is “blood coming out of your eyes- or blood coming from wherever-” and if you respond with a different tone in your voice, you’re a “bitch”. Seventy five cents
Get new boobs, plump your lips Seventy five cents
Your success will be undermined, It will be implied that you did whatever it took to get the job, every bull you intimidate will call you every name in the book, but that’s to be expected
Because there’s no way you got to the place you are based off of your intelligence. Seventy five cents
Degrade yourself Parade in mini skirts and roll around in singles Be a piece of meat, Entertain me, slut. Seventy five cents.
(Seventy five cents, unless you’re hispanic then it’s fifty four cents, and if you’re Black
it’s even less.)
We are worth way more than

Seventy Five Cents.

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