Are you a lesbian? Are you gay? Over the years, that’s what people have asked me And in the beginning, I’d say “no” because what I’ve learned about being gay is that it’s bad, it’s shameful, even evil So if that’s the definition, there’s no way I’m a lesbian ‘cos I know I’m a good person But even the “lesbian” that LGBT communities have defined is often sticky ‘cos they say I ought to embrace my gay identity, leave the shame behind, and make room for pride and some of that’s cool, but it’s still not the answer for me ‘Cos I have a problem with defining myself by what I do - and while it may be particularly uncomfortable to define myself by sexuality, in actuality, it doesn’t matter what it is Whether I’m making love to a woman, writing a poem, or sitting on the toilet Nothing I do can define who I am That’s a common misconception in this nation We are so focused on what we do and achieve That we mistake ourselves for our deeds But there was a time when the concept of a homosexual didn’t even exist There were homosexual acts, but no homosexuals Just like there were criminal acts, but no criminals See, defining ourselves by what we do is dangerous, because it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy that makes us believe in lies and denies the fact that human nature is constantly changing, bending, evolving So, I know this may sound strange to ears that have been socialized in a particularly American way, but if I am to speak my truth, I must say that at times, I may create art, but I am neither a creator nor an artist I may write songs and poems, but I am not a writer, musician, or poet Some nights, I may walk onto a stage and perform, I may do a little dance or make a drum out of my stomach Some days, I may play a little guitar, open my mouth and try to sing or speak, But that does not mean that I am a performer, dancer, drummer, guitarist, singer, or speaker It means that I often like to take what’s ugly in the world and turn it into something beautiful something a little more tolerable because life has often been difficult You see, I have been to doctors for everything from allergies to indigestion I get rolfed to treat scoliosis I see a psychologist to help with depression and perfectionism I see a psychiatrist to get prescriptions for meds that, like art, make the world a little more tolerable but that does not make me a patient I go to school, but that does not make me a student I teach kids about shapes and colors, but I am not a teacher I go to sleep every night, but I am not a sleeper Sometimes I can’t stop obsessive thoughts from racing through my mind, but I am not a thinker At times, I am overwhelmed with intense emotions, but I am not a feeler Sometimes I say shit, damn, ass, stupid motherfucker, but I am not a curser Sometimes I stick my tongue out when someone takes a picture, but I am not a tongue sticker outer! Yes, there are many things that I do in my life, but I am not a doer And sure, I’ve made love to a woman, but I am not a lesbian See, not one thing can define me, because I am a whole person I am in flux like the seasons, and I am in motion I rely on words to describe me, but they are just decoration ‘Cos no word in Webster’s dictionary will ever define me Words are just tools used to convey something And what I hope to convey here is that I am not a verb I am not any of these identifications, labels, or words But I am using them to try to convey what’s true See, ‘cos when all of these words fall away I am what’s left in the room.
I am a sponge, soaking the world in
hoping to be squeezed soon into a work of art
I am pregnant with ideas and words
churning in me
kicking and screaming inside my body
And before long, my water will break
and after some intense pushing and deep breathing,
I will give birth
to poetry.
I will write, and it will be the beginning of me realizing my own power
the beginning of me recognizing that nature is showing me who I am,
helping me understand what my place in the world is
Yeah, I will write, whenever I need to process all of the information
that is constantly pouring in
When my mind is stuck on: demand, criticism, demand, criticism...
'Cos writing always relieves my anxiety
It satisfies my every need -
it is my food, my blood, my breath, my therapy
It gives me solace, as it sheds light on all this darkness
and it gives me peace when I'm surrounded by violence
It empties my head when it is so full
and allows me some sanity in an insane world
Yeah, I write, 'cos if I didn't there'd be too great a possibility
of my going crazy
If I didn't write, I might slip into the downward spiral of a chemically-induced addiction
But with writing, I still get that timeless high and loss of inhibition
Perhaps there isn't much difference;
maybe I'm just drunk on my own seratonin
'Cos when I write, I am invincible
I am not subject to the usual laws of gravity
When I write, I am not susceptible to depression
or the pain of my own self-judgement
When I write, I am not vulnerable
but rather strong and flowing like a long river
Free like a child who hasn't yet been conditioned
to believe in the lies and absurdities of our society
Yeah, I write, because it's one of the only things I've found
that will give me that feeling -
that momentary escape from the world we live in
or the release of writing about the world's pain and receiving validation
I write in order to cope
Cope with the stress of trying to live up to the standards my family set for me
when I am, by nature, the black sheep -
the one without a 9 to 5 job, without a regular paycheck,
and without any romantic interest in the opposite sex
I write in order to cope with the fact
that I can't hold my girlfriend's hand sometimes
without wondering if we'll be the next victims
of a hate crime
Cope with the voices that have gotten lodged in my head,
telling me I'm not good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, feminine enough
Cope with the tug-of-war in me
between what I know to be true and my conditioning
Cope with the advertising that gets shoved in my face every day
and the impulse in me to go along with my country's incessant quest for MORE
(more power, more money, more sex, more things) -
to be one more consumer in this consumer culture
Cope with the rage that is afraid to show its face,
'cos I learned to bottle my anger
Cope with my own perfectionism
and cope with the guilt and shame I feel
just for having all I have and existing in such a corrupt system
Cope with the fact that a billion people are starving,
while I enjoy daily the luxury of eating
Cope with knowing that there are children in the military
and children being sold into the sex trade to support their families
Cope with the huge and growing disparity of wealth in the world
Cope with the capitalist society that I live in,
where everything is something to be bought or sold,
where some people suffer so that others may prosper,
where the almighty buck rules all and profit is more important than peoples' lives
Cope with seeing people so brilliantly brainwashed
that they sincerely believe (and can say with a straight face)
that the USA under the Bush administration is the greatest nation on Earth,
that it is a true democracy (rather than an oligarchy),
and that it is its gift to the world to spread that democracy as far and wide as it can
Cope with the consistent abuse of power
by governments, militaries, and countless multinational corporations
Cope with globalization, privatization, deforestation, and manipulation
Cope with the very existence of war and genocide
and the persistence of self-hatred and suicide
Cope with other peoples' coping mechanisms that make me feel helpless,
'cos all I want to do is save them from their pain, but I know I can't
And so they drink and smoke and puke and pass out as a way of life,
and I don't want to do that
So I write...
'Cos writing shows me Truth when I'm surrounded by lies
and it makes me grateful for being alive
So unless I find something that can better provide,
I... will write.
What is one of your addictions?
Submitted by Paperheart.
Well, lately I've had an extra-sweet tooth. Sugar seems to be my biggest addiction right now. In any form - chocolate, ice cream, a single, iced, decaf, soy mocha with whipped cream on top (I like the balance of dairy with non-dairy at times - just one of my many contradictions). Sometimes I find myself thinking about the next sweet something I'm going to consume, and then I realize that I'm thinking about it a bit too much. The funny thing is that sometimes I don't even really WANT what I'm fantasizing about - I mean, I don't actually want to taste it or put it in my body or spend the money on it. It's more that it's simply a habit - something that's become comfortable, comforting. I've heard that addictions are mainly substitutes for something you really long for - like love, approval, affection, or some other basic human emotional or spiritual need. So, now I'm asking myself what I'm really longing for. Usually when I ask myself this question, the answer is: peace of mind. The ability to relax. An escape from my demands on myself and my self-criticisms. Or an escape from the culture I find myself immersed in - a culture which I largely disagree with, and which often disagrees with me. Sometimes I'm so sickened by the greed, injustice, and inequality I see that I actually can't eat anything without having some kind of intestinal discomfort. And yet, I still crave something, knowing that it might make me feel worse. What's ironic, too, is that while I'm yearning to consume something to comfort myself, much of what disgusts me is the incredible overconsumption of the global north at the expense of the global south.
I guess all of this is reason enough to intensely crave sugar. Or maybe it's just PMS.
Rambling from journal:
