Rise

The worst lie is the one you tell yourself.

The best tasting wine can vary from day to day.

The tallest tower will always be beaten out by another.

The smallest flame of hope cannot be put out.

Resist. Be Resilient. Rise.

Mo(u)rning

This morning I woke up. Alive.

My body aches because my heart breaks. Every muscle tensed for the last 24 hours. My legs don’t hold tonight because this marathon is unending. This unwaking coma with decorticate posturing brings fatigue never felt before. Sleeplessness leads to dreams no one wished to have, dreams that all too soon become reality, a reality that feels more like nightmare with no hope of morning.

She tells me, last night I dreamt I was hiding with my friend because I’m scared of being sent back.

She tells me, today is the first day that I haven’t worn hijab because I’m afraid of my peers.

She tells me, if Obamacare is repealed, I can’t afford the meds that prevent my cancer.

Last night I dreamt I was attacked. My body aches and my heart breaks. I woke up this morning. Alive. Queer. Last night I dreamt a murder. I was both the victim and the perpetrator. I woke up mourning because Matthew Shepard didn’t get to see the light of day. Because two guys thought him too queer for their liking. Because that fencepost in Wyoming could be a tree in Oklahoma or a light pole in Seattle. I woke up this morning with the similar nauseating tumultuous stomach I’ve lived with for far too many years.

She tells me, I’m afraid of what he supports. What do I do when racial slurs are sent my way? I don’t feel safe walking on this campus.

She tells me, my parents don’t speak English well. I want to go home and protect them.

She tells me, I was raped. It feels like it is happening again.

I woke up mourning. Alive. Queer. And White. Ashamed that I couldn’t think of a single name of a queer black victim of hate. Mourning my naïveté, mourning my white fragility. And so I wore black. Though I am privileged to remove this color, take off these covers whenever I want and walk around pasty white.

She tells me, I see you. I hear you. I love you.

She tells me, take care of yourself. You’re worth it.

She tells me, I’m sorry. Why do you buy into the expectations others have for your life?

I woke up today. Alive. Queer. White. Mourning. I woke up on a Wednesday. And so I painted my lips pink. Because on Wednesdays, we wear pink. Though another white man felt privileged enough to call me faggot for doing so. I woke up remembering that some people don’t think that I should exist.

She tells me, you don’t know people of color. You cannot speak for people of color. Go away white boy. She’s right.

She tells me, I don’t need or want allies. I need and want accomplices. She’s right.

She tells me, actually you’re wrong. Again, she’s right.

Black people sing songs because they understand what is wrong. Spiritual songs that express the longings of the soul.

Obsessed with the newest toys, white boys find their joys in knowing their money can save them. Thoughts of the soul compounded like daddy’s interest to escape from the reality that our purchases make us partakers of the systemic oppression of those not like us.

This will be my spiritual. One sans the Gospel though still built on hope, and justice, and love. While actively acknowledging my proximity to appropriation, I will sing. For Noonie Norwood and the other black queer people who’ve lost their lives simply for being them. I will shout. We are all human.

I woke up this morning. Alive. Queer. And White.

Some didn’t. For them, I mourn.

Civic Duty

I said duty. Ha.

In other news,

Flint Michigan still does not have clean water

Merrick Garland has yet to receive a vote of confirmation to the Supreme Court

I am still emotionally dead inside

In two days, peace will not come. Only more violence, discord, and disgust.

It’s a damn shame that humans divide themselves in such a way.

Vote

Ambulances

I spend all day fixing problems that I’m finding myself breaking shit when I get home.

You can’t breathe? Having chest pain?

I’m your guy. Let’s start a line and labs.

You want emotional support? Need anything but a cynic?

Call someone else. I  fuck that up all too often.

–

He was dying and you left. You left him with us so you could go sleep. You left him while we read his rights and offered our care. Sometimes I think they breathe easier than I do at night.

I look like a kindergartner, but I can handle my shit. I feel like a child, but I can’t seem to handle this heart.

An open letter to my WASPy family

Free speech is a constitutional right, fought for and protected even when said free speech does not align with your tightly held beliefs and ideals.

I grasp my mug of Folger’s tightly.

Assimilation is not what people should do in order to be considered citizens of our country. It is our very diversity that chokes out the stranglehold of the ugly alt right.

I choke back a tear.

The 7 layers of hell and 1,000 years of tribulation are convoluted fears. The Proverbs 31 wife doesn’t exist and if she did, she couldn’t be tamed because women are not meant to be so. And men can love men; Jesus said nothing about it, not that it would have mattered.

I say nothing about it.

Because it was unsafe and hostile. Because you couldn’t handle it. Because you might have had an aneurysm and I was on vacation. Because authenticity and boldness are too strange for you. I left it for you at that table until you’re able to understand and really hear me.

I’m here. I’m queer. Come dance with me.

 

 

Not Crying this Sunday: An Ode to Hill’s 4th Men

This a guest commentary I wrote and hope to have published in my school’s student newspaper, The Falcon. It was an emotional weekend, but love always wins. Will write soon about why that is.

They did it again. Fourth Hill is notorious for making the audience think when they perform at Hill Hall’s annual Decade Skate. This year though, they brought a different agenda. They shared the story of a young gay male as he experienced life in high school. They showed bullying, derogatory language, and the pain of concealing an identity the rest of the world traditionally does not accept. Instead of the typical skin and hip thrusting seen in Decade Skate, they pulled on our heart strings by making us think about the queer community around us.

As a former Fourth Hill alum, I must start by saying thank you. Thank you for redeeming my experience in the residence halls. Thank you for standing up for what is right. Thank you for using your stage to give us all a voice. No longer can we stand by and allow discrimination of the queer and non-gender conforming community at SPU. Fourth Hill, you got the conversation going by stepping out big. I want to take it further.

Currently at SPU, the Non-Discrimination Policy as listed per the SPU website states, “It is the policy of Seattle Pacific University not to discriminate on the basis of race, color, national origin, sex, age, or disability in its programs or activities, as required by applicable laws and regulations.” Who is missing on this list? Does this mean that SPU can discriminate towards people of the LGBTQIA+ community without repercussion? I am unsure, but in the process of finding out.

Until then, thank you Fourth Hill for the conversations that will undoubtedly happen across campus this week. I hope that they are encouraging, challenging, and performed in love. Continue to change the culture by engaging on our campus. It is worth it.

 

Never Settling,

– C

I don’t seek pity.

Try attending your own funeral. You’ll see what people really felt. You’ll hear what people really thought. You’ll know what people you never should have trusted.

It goes something like this:

“This is what the Bible says.”

“This is what our church believes.”

“I love you, but this is how I’ve based my life so I’ll always feel sorry for you.”

Don’t tell me what the Bible says. I’ve poured my life over it. Don’t tell me what the church believes. I’ve shouted that from the street corner. I’ve bled and I’ve cried for it. Don’t tell me you love me as you walk me to the door.

I needed to be held. I needed a hand to hold. Instead, I’ll receive a lifetime of prayer-love’s ugly mutterings. Go on, pray for me. If it comforts you. At least you’ll be well.

I won’t be listening.

Never Settling,

– C

 

 

 

Liminality

disconnected from the old and imagining the new, i feel lost in space, matters swirl around me but remain out of reach, the security of oxygen and the tubing it was transferred to me through have been severed, the once pure breath i blindly received no longer fills the lower lung, deep breathing is replaced by a subtle hiccup, always something to overcome, that misfire evolves into gasping, evolution takes its stride and with it comes asphyxiation, had the O2 not been cut, aspiration, i take what i can get, this suit begins to feel bulky and overpriced, taking it off will require time as each piece comes with the memory of those who financially sourced and built this monstrosity, they meant so well when they took me out to see the design plans and tested out earlier models, somehow all that planning now seems pointless, sweat begins to bead along my hairline, down my neck and back, it all weighs so heavily, the baggage i carry is misidentified as protective and normal, even now it feels closer than skin, damn this suit has got to go, time without life support has changed the way i think, the process i evaluate with, the person i am, the gasping and wheezing give way to liminality, attached and secure was pleasant, but self-hatred and forced consumption began to burn, turn off the gas, it’s just a fire risk anymore, differing opinion dropped at the wayside long before our rocket took off, there was no time to ask other questions, to allow anyone else on board would equate to round two of McCarthy’s commi scare, no one is to be trusted on this craft until requirements have been met and thorough documentation has been performed, the moon is our legal property and we hold mineral rights to it as well, i think i signed up a little fast, i think i trained a little fast, i didn’t really understand our orders, then i think i brought others along a little fast, i think, i think, i think, mission to the moon became compromised awhile ago, when you are that high up though, grab the oxygen, stay alive, whatever it takes to make it back becomes worth it, the means become the end, then a comet zoomed by, small rocks sprayed the helmet shield, the support line was chopped, small cracks gave way to safety glass crumbling down in one interconnected sheet because nothing can ever break the good old fashioned way like beer bottles on a neighbor’s concrete wall, nothing can ever soothe like poisonous fumes on a long drag of your clover cigarette, always protected, especially in death, then i saw them out there, others, among the stars, some near their rockets, others swimming in the nebulas round and round, all floating free without suits or safety cables, free to be naked, free to be free, the asphyxiation doesn’t come, confused and in fear my mouth remains closed, learning to breathe again is not a dummies course offered, without oxygen, how will it work, without precedent it will have to do, in the liminal space i stand, no ground to steady my wobbling knees, nothing to hold on to but the knowledge within, connection is poor out here, 3G coming in 50 years, forgive me if i don’t call, don’t think i’m distant, just exploring what’s out there, embracing the limbo, taking my first breaths again.

Never Settling,

– C