Curly

I was raised
Indoctrinated in capitalism
Taught to measure my worth
By my rate of production
But never supplied with an abled body
I learned to play in pain
To normalize the broken parts of me
In order to survive in a society
With no space for the unproductive
Never supplied with an allistic mind
I struggled to shutter my thoughts
To focus on a single concept
Rather than a concept's singularity
When my intuition compelled
My interdisciplinary tendencies

Chronic

I am sick and the land is too.
My gut is my mouthpiece.
Perhaps I am the gut of the land,
And in turn, the mouthpiece.
I seek, always, to know the land
as I know myself.
We are one and the same,
undivided and whole,
simultaneously, broken and morbid.
I steward the land and the land stewards me.
I learn. I profess. I profess to learn.
I profess.  I learn.  I learn to profess.

Letters to an Ex-Lover Anthology: Unavoidable

Be sure that this prayer is inescapable

Understand that you messed with me
It's my turn to mess with you
You cannot avoid my craft

You will sit and listen quietly
You will consider and reflect
You will find strength to hold yourself culpable
You will find fortitude to apologize

Misfortune will forever dog your heels
Maleficence will bend you backwards
Misery will settle on your chest
And Death will always be near

You will not escape adversity
You will not escape tragedy
You will not escape tribulation and disappointment
You messed with a savage

I call on the energies of this earth
Hold him accountable
Teach him guilt and remorse
Bring him shame and dishonor

He shall not escape his crimes

Note to Self (Manifesting)

Never forget that you
Have the potential for infinite life
And the power to destroy all of it
You are the beginning and the end
You are the sun, moon and evening star
You are boundless energy in a system that seeks
To define the indefinable
You are Jewitch

Built Up

Life's been all over the place lately, showering me in glory and reward while also putting me through the ringer.  How very typical.  In any case, I haven't had much drive or time to write.  So here's three short freeform poems to tide you over until I'm back in May (hopefully sooner though).

Impeccably Poor Timing
I need to write.
Now is not the time.
I have studying to do.
Naturally, now is the best time to write.


Non-binary/Agender
More often a man
Less often a woman
Most often somewhere in between
Yet nowhere in particular


Genderfluid
So often striving for the unattainable
So often striving for something that
I won't even want by tomorrow afternoon
Yet will long desperately for the next morning

Forester

A forester's Bible in hand
I learn to mete and measure land.
Reading the good word
Statistical precision's always assured
Because sampling design and stochasticity
Are my foundation's chromaticity
Used to paint a plan for inventory
To record the forest in all its glory.
Cruising and traversing
The trees and I always conversing
Greeting trees with tape and recording
Always sampling enough to be rewarding
Then attributes and values are poured into excel
Regression and error are the stats I compel
To build tables and predictions
To tease out conviction from contradiction
And perhaps most importantly
To encourage forests' conservancy.

Can't Be Wrong

I'm so goddam stubborn
And I've wasted precious time
Loving others too much,
Too stubborn to let go
And learn when to quit,
Because concluding that
My love was wasted
Feels like a death sentence.
My stubbornness compels me
To prove that true love's kiss
Might be enough to convince Death
To let us love unparted and eternal.

Domus

Gentle insect in the lichen
What harmony have you known
Nestled amid the ancient rocks,
Brightly caroling the soft roots of ferns?
Would it be the summer bluebird
Who rustles and perturbs your verdant world?
What warm secrets has the forest shared
Whispering to the moss and springs?
Your seasons are colored by intuition,
Never knowing a disturbed thought.
Of the many nights you've pondered,
Observing the dynamic dusk,
You have never withered.
You've always risen
like the earthen columns you call home.

Lucus

Behold, as I leave the mountain
Singing stone songs and
murmuring with the berries
Knowing the moist secrets of the moss
And the chores and errands of the insects
Strolling, wandering, living
in the lichenous sanctuary
Shading seeds and me alike
Every season bucolic and vivid
I could climb till dusk
And never have left Eden