Figures

Talking to A- and subsequently rereading a lot of what I've written on here over the years has made me realize I've gotten complacent with documenting my introspection. I realized I see some of the old stuff I wrote in new light even if I felt like I had a lot of clarity at the time of writing (after all, I had to have some clarity to articulate it in the first place). It's nice to look back on your thoughts once you're removed from the emotions and circumstances that evoked them.

I want to get back into the habit of writing on here. Tonight is not the night to start up again, and to be honest I don't know if I can guarantee consistency and regularity, but I will try.

Since it's the middle of finals, I don't have time to write at length, so I will instead just leave this here. It's a poem I wrote dedicated to my mom that I performed at SWC's (un)filtered, an event with the central theme of gender and sexual violence. I'm still looking for the courage and the method to share it with my mom. (Thanks G- for your support in making this happen)

Figures

Hey there, little boy
I’m worried about you.
I’m worried about you because you have big dreams
Big, like the airplanes you see in the sky,
That someday, you hope to build and to fly
Big, like the bank account you want to have
Six figures a year to buy glamour and pizzazz
But wait
There’s another figure I know you want
A woman’s body, to have and to flaunt
A body with which to make a child
  Or maybe two, at the same time.
A child you can then lift on your broad shoulders
Because I know, little boy, you dream of getting big muscles

Well you’ve made it Daddy.
Those dreams have come true.

But the thing about big dreams is that you forget about the little things
Because you’ve got your head so high in the clouds that it clouds your judgment.

Look Dad,
Can’t you see? Your sea of money
Can’t drown the sound of beer bottles falling by Mom’s bed
Can’t wash away the memory of my twin sister sobbing in my head
And it sure as hell won’t wash away the red
  From your hands or your face
The red of the lipstick that marks your disgrace
So stop trying to buy our favor

And you call yourself a father figure.
Go figure.

Because have you considered
That while you’re out there chasing your dreams
Mom’s at home chasing drink after drink
Have you considered
That while you’re out there pursuing womanly perfection,
Looking for the some action to tame your erection
Because you’ve lost all attraction to my mother
My mother who has never stopped showing you affection,
My mother who’s committed no infraction to deserve your rejection
Because her only flaw is the scar she got when she gave birth to your twin son and daughter by c-section.
Have you considered
That there’s much more to a woman than her bodily complexion?

If you don’t think people can love people who are flawed
What makes you think you deserve to be loved at all?