Broken is as broken does; there is no shame in it, only the rise after the fall. It will quicken you to wholeness and recovery, for it is the furthest thing from pure satisfaction and delight. There is no calm in it; no acceptance, only a blinding desire to gain healing in the shape of unconditional love, a rejuvenated spirit and uninterrupted rest. Brokenness is the first step of transformation, rebirth…you have nothing to fear.
I Was Thinking
At break point
Will I split wide open into two fractured selves
or will I implode masterfully
Sucking the energy of all passerby souls
into my ever–spinning ear–splitting
I see extinction living here like chronic dust
Three–dimensional matter piling their sins
into a one–dimensional room – I can only
For nothing is certain
under a flaming red sun
or a dry silver–white moon
©Dorhora. 5-16-13. All rights reserved.
Snap. The infinite power we have over ourselves is often overlooked in the quest to control and change other people and situations. Snap. There is nothing more difficult in this world than placing mind over matter. Snap. Last night, I woke up for the first time. Today, I am shrugging off the harnesses and breaking protocol with the status quo. Snap. Just as I eat, drink and take shelter, I will write. A desire that must be satisfied with every waking moment is a need. Snap. So fulfill it, I will. And in doing so, I will reclaim the power to make decisions that benefit my welfare and artistry. I will not feel guilty for placing self above others. I will not apologize for attitudes, thoughts and behavior that may clash with the road most taken. I will understand my dominion over things that matter little and those that matter most. I will know that it is okay to walk away from my commitments, job, and relationships if they become barriers to my happiness and well-being. It is not just enough to live anymore, but it is everything to live as fully well and satisfied as possible. Snap. And there is nothing wrong, but everything right, in this. Snap. This is not to say that every action will or should be excused in terms of gratifying the self. There is a level of selfishness that will surface, and there will be casualties. Accusations will be thrown, and eyebrows will raise. But there is no getting around such socially engineered reactions, so why bother curbing wellness to avoid them. Snap. I have to remember that I am central here, not special, just the author of the rest of my life. It can be an unspectacular and ordinary role but a most important one. I will not take it lightly. And I will not allow anyone else to control the reigns. What I make of my life will be my glory to savor or my fault to digest. Snap. But I will pen each moment as best I know how. I will be both the poet quiet and unknown and the one unrestrained in living color. The voice unafraid of social constructs and dissension; I will acknowledge and respect both the anarchist and pacifist for both run rampant through my veins. I will be strong yet undefinable. There is too much responsibility and pressure in definition and frameworks. The latter two need a certain mold that I have never fit. I enjoy freedom too much and the power to decide my status from moment to moment. Snap. My future is ready and waiting for me as I write this piece. I do not know if I will return to this space again. But if I do, it will be with a different voice, ever-changing. Snap. A new purpose. Snap. New words overwriting past lives with power, pain and glory in every stroke of the pen. So, here I am. Snap.
This is for all victories sweetest.
in the aftertaste. The after notes.
The after hours of confusion and despair.
This is for the outspread road ahead
without your daughters. Your sons.
Your partners. No less.
This is for missing feet. Legs.
Arms. Hearts. Spare parts
for the taking when we are at
This is for saviors who save.
Not for killers who kill.
But martyrs who die
for all these causes. These damn causes
that only exist because we do.
This is for runners. But wait. Runners just run.
And there is no redemption in it. For running.
And there is no shame in it.
And there should be no interruption in it.
And there should be no weeping in it.
And there should be no fear in it.
And there should be no bombs in it.
And there should be no flying limbs in it.
And there should be no death. Never death.
And there should be no dispute about it. Absolute.
There should only be
42,195 meters. Tape.
Tired limbs. Breath spent. Feet blistered.
Body shaken. But
Still intact. Alive. Survivors every one.
Ready for the next
break with gravity.
This one is for you.
On your mark
©Dorhora. 2013. All rights reserved.
A One-Act Poem: I Say, America, Push!
Woman reads from script
Her lines stick like crazy glue
She opens wide her lips
And pushes out each syllable
One by one
With a pink wet tongue
Woman exits stage right
Dark and empty stage
Setting is heavy and humid
As drenched syllables
Continue to echo forth from backstage
Jarring foreign sounds
Butting up against
Class and emotion
Woman enters stage left
And reads from script
She opens wide her lips
And calls us by name
One by one
And on and on and on and on
Until a blend of persons
Races creeds colors
Rises to their feet
And look upon each other
And goodwill in their hearts
Ready to unite their voices
And flood the atmosphere
Once and for all
With rare intellect
And a fine mood
©Dorhora, 2012. All Rights Reserved.
For Angela Davis and so many others…
In response to a comment referring to America as the “white man’s land” and my supposed futility in the fight to end oppression within the American borders:
African-Americans or “Blacks” do not have another country to which we may return. We did not secure passports to come to America. We did not flee a coup. We did not enter across an illegal border. We did not request asylum. We did not simply come to enjoy the “good life” or receive a better education. We were CAPTURED and SOLD into THIS AMERICA. Therefore, I am not trying to be a citizen; I was born a citizen into a country with blood on its hands from the very first Native American that was slain. So for that reason, I think I’ll stay. And I’ll fight. And I’ll use my voice. And I’ll keep PUSHING until my beautiful, little brown boys and girls not only have their say, but begin to LIVE IT. Forward, march!