The Thing With Feathers

Vulnerability. Oof. Breathe in but mostly breathe out. This one is hard. With my skill at being vulnerable being put into rigorous practice these past several months the idea of what it even means to be vulnerable has been very much on my mind. Also. I have been exhausted . At times.  I think most see being vulnerable as my natural state, as if it comes like magic to me, completely without effort or tole. Well, lemme tell ya, that is simply not the case . Being vulnerable? It sucks sometimes. I have struggled- oof even typing these words makes me feel far too exposed- with thinking that I do not deserve to take up space. That I do not deserve to be seen. I am not important. I am next to nothing. People would be fine if I went away and did not come back. Part of that comes from a healthy understanding of my smallness compared to the vastness of eternity. Part of that comes from knowing the reality of people's ability to adjust to new life circumstances. A lot of that...

I Wanted Him I so wanted him to be able to be there for me when I collapsed.  I so wanted him to be able to wrap me in healing hold.  I so wanted him. 

For Sale  On the market as if marriage is meant for profit buying and selling  of human beings our deepest rooted insecurities our opaquely veiled dreams on sale we are dehumanizing ourselves becoming products how am I best viewed my best side? lighting? style? how will they best love me? or rather what I want them to see of me when my hair is without tangle as if wind does not exist ...?  when I'm skinny enough to view rib bone curves below my skin ...? though I almost fainted in class when my legs are without the hair that grows naturally ...? because somehow that's what makes me  feminine  ups my market value keeps them window shopping and if I'm lucky they'll  come in to shop  inside my store always keep the lights on  the sign  flipped to OPEN bright neon OPEN otherwise they might not  come back to consume me I'd be left no one buying what...

That Night The way he looked at me that night... in the flashing seizure-inducing lights made me wonder if maybe I wasn't a lesbo after all... or maybe it wasn't just men of color. then I looked back and he was gone was it all in my head after all? 

Full sitting here waiting hoping expecting If clouds are full ... are these clouds full? will they pour? pour upon God's earth this small red-headed child  of his who is frail and tired but hoping hoping something  she can not see knowing he sees for her she is the young woman  on the bus with the dog whose eyes were glazed and blue dependent  and yet all the others the jocks the hippy were blinder than her that was one sweet dog my sweet lord thank you for guiding me all these years when I could not see when I was not even aware of my own blind state so used to living in that reality  unware that though  your spirit is indeed  invisible he can still be seen  seen  in the wind a walk to remember  though hidden deep in cheese had that right you can't see it but you can feel it that spirit binding us all together when we try so desperat...

Are You Avoiding Me Question mark. 

Catching eyes Catching eyes how? how does one go about setting such a trap? bait it with red curls? accentuated eyes? learn how to tell a story a story in a glance a story of desire that makes  that  pumping machine go just a little  faster more intense for mere moments caught them but most of the time when we catch things it's to kill them this is more like my nephews when the want to add  to their menagerie  they catch the thing to hold it care for it love it though they don't always know how though sometimes the caught thing  dies they hold it for a while sometimes too tightly sometimes too roughly  they squish it guts oose out sometimes the gaps between their fingers are too large sometimes it escapes  back in the wild the thing they  love I hold his gaze and yet I'm caught  dang who set the trap is unclear maybe both  neither ...

I AM RACIST AND SO, WHITE PERSON, ARE YOU But We Don't Have to Stay That Way  Love Letter For My Sister Alright.  Before we dive into this SUPER fun topic let me start with the fact that you are being made new every day. You're not going to be allowed to stay where you're at in your racism. You are beloved. For the first time -practically ever- I'm not being sarcastic. You are so beloved. I don't know who you are (hi Mom!), but that doesn't matter.  I need you to know it and believe  it before we continue. Because this is not  actually fun. It's actually really shitty . If you don't believe beloved this could be dangerous. Don't get stuck. Please. Right now we're part of the problem, but we don't have to stay that way.  How did this whole thing come about?  I had one sentence in my head. I had to face my racism. Sitting cross-legged  on my bed I put on a random Spotify playlist. ("Sum Me Up" case you...