1.

dear feminism,
do i think of women
when i write to you?

why do i personify?

angry at an unjust world,
angry at injustice in ourselves,
have i been taught to fear you?
ignore inequity of fears?

or hide  
in the shadows of your salty curves
speaking soft with sycophantic tilt?

was this what mother meant,
portending talk of therapy
two decades in advance?

a bouy on three waves,
i crash against protuberances too:
limp didactics on avoidance for the victims,
waking in continuums of shrugging crime.

sameness differs in utopias --
every latent gut avers the right to spill.
despite the lissome quell forgetfulness contains,
my proper sphere will leave me
deafened in a wrack-dry
tidal echo--
'Fairness' stains clear beauty dark
as my imagined egos drown at last
from down our oceanic well of shame.

sacrifices fade,
i cannot write...
i write, and fail,
defined by sediment cliche,
reading women authors out of obligation ..odd desire,
and so in dim medieval-fashion
miss
the trail of monoliths erected
for a craven ease

2.

dear civil rights,
why were you taught
through prisms of boredom?
my voiceless reading left you to your rage,
while i communed with glossy nature,
private leaves.

how dare i clap your back
"congratulations"
at your tidy givens  granted
scars were open past my seeing,
and bleed still

while right here, empathy dies, now

dreams are bombed,
grafted to infected faculties
to wallow tended in a garden of injustice
erudite and dead,
i **** a bit i tell myself then stuff my face with food,
cover breath with smoke
and sleep in sour ignorance
no courage left to care.
blind grins bouquet the status quo
of rotted stems, discarded roots

i bury you with homeland fear
the killing silence filled with just intentions
for tomorrow

3.

dear feminism,
you speak for me, too--
my genderless ear attunes

cathartic sweep of ills
scaled beyond your other selves,
sexing into common chosen songs

no fearful tremble
at a mainstream backdrop reprimand--
to be a good gender,
--this gender not that gender--
gestate bigotry of symbol wombs,
cut ripe to cater to unquestioned whim;
no violent selfhood requisitioning
to closet inner innocence in pain

contractions shock in further waves
i midwife simple hope i hope
true fairness you have nursed in seeing death


4.

dear punk **** feminism,
marginal i ask as i perform
unstructured sutras on my heart
exemplar of a meta-freedom
burning in the core of threaded ages strung--
how then life without your voice,
vast silence unobserved,
the hidden anti-*** persisting
in our gender-theory--theorizing sterile norms--
sweet pulsing concupiscence
in our every waking breath
a pollinating zephyr tease toward
celebrating every feotal bathtub bliss --
unbridled ideologies unleashed
unmade into opining din

5.

dear temperance,
i vote you cherished
whirlwind
singing endless through the ageist ridicule
apparent failure in the civil warrior's eye
dogma blinks
denial of the rights you suffered for
but underneath compassion all along
i rally in your family's younger gaze
staring down,
questioning the steady rhythm of a whiskied fist

6.

dear feminism,
have i been taught to celebrate you?
have i been taught to fear for you?
have i been taught to treat you as a woman?
why do i personify you?
like some Sophia cybered up atop the forums of our age

blind and failing
i would be dust as well
like any rightful fading into dust
be swept along with all coercive screenings,
fear-born silences
immune to reason and the reasons of the heart--
rather than to live forgetting
letting go the questions giving rise to equals in a discourse
revising what it means to ask the meaning of


#
dear feminism,

when you are gone..
i for one will sing you
hope

to protest bigotry
a raging tranquil step
of care-filled voicing

dare an upward sloping arc
a dream becoming shared
to overcome
attain
inspired by once unfamiliar names

i will still be here,
the angry feminist
burning in my flagging underwear

brightest outrage at injustice
your deeper loves, fairness
selfhood honored
as if written in the stars
or ancient shorelines
-- you will not be gone

I.
My son does not understand fear,
he is 3,
he thinks in color,
he believes in magic,
he says that our dog Smokey
controls the weather.

Watch him as he goes!
Jumping over cracks on sidewalks,
pretending to fly,
attempting to get near electric outlets
because he saw them spark once,
and fire,
fire is cool!

"Watch me Mommy!

watch me."

II.
Some days I stay in bed all day,
I tell everyone I am catching a cold,
a sinus infection,
another migraine again.

It is easier to lie than to explain,
that it is too difficult to shower,
to find an outfit, to brush my hair,
to make food,
to chew it.

Friends jokingly call me a hypochondriac,
my Mother thinks I am mellow dramatic,
My son asks me if I need my temperature checked.

It is too honest to say,
"I am fighting monsters, and they won today."
Who would believe me if I did?

We are taught since childhood
to not believe in the things
we can not see.

III.
The day we buried my Grandfather,
I wore my favorite gray dress,
I was scared to taint it
with such a sad memory,
but I was 8 months pregnant
and nothing else fit.

We threw dirt in a hole
as three strangers watched us grieve.
They stood with shovels ready to do their jobs,
ready to get home to their loved ones.  

All I could think about was how much
it aches to love anyone,
even in the good times, it aches.
Loss dances outside our window
like flames, waiting to engulf.

I vowed to protect my child
from any unnecessary pain,
I vowed to make him feel safe.

Now I fear I am the one
tainting him in gray.

IV.
Not every day is bad,
most days are nice, in fact,
some days are so good
that the bad ones seem
like distant memories.

On the good days I feel brave,
brave like my son;

I tickle his tummy and show him
which lights are stars, which are planets,
and tell him I love him, always,
no matter what.

Bread, avoacado,
bacon, lettuce, tomato.
Turkey, and the bread again.

forays into the unknown , into the magical , into the spherical
emitting pulsating rays from the astral body thrown out of the physical ****** is release , harmony , purification

wolf lips
teeth to hips hips to mouth

ice cream so good it makes you wanna **** people
ice cream so velvety you wanna make sweet sweet love to it

sunshine so melty wispy curling clouds whip across the sky,
twist like a message.
Mad libs , learning meaning , watching people , people watching us...we .. watch each other from behind the scenes cough * screens... *cough
Sunset picnic , good night sun we call !
pasta and a nutmeg chocolate , dulche de leche milkshake.

We speak of plans. We speak of future , when i have been living by the day. Dripping meager drops of the future from my tongue , she slugs it forth like a dam burst.  We speak of her frustration with the siblings. We speak of news on Yai and uncle. Grandma has had another operation , all my books and room decorations are at her house now , she’s offering me a job. Uncle is taking his epilepsy pills now, i am wary - pills can mess you up.  Attempting to stay sober. Facing himself. She cried  - A conversation with the mother , long distance mothers day , tears soak her cheeks as she see’s me for the first time since January. Perhaps a self imposed exile. The distance has done us good. I was expecting stress from this conversation but the familial energy sustained more peace. Granted..she is still in the throws of her huge landing. So some things are still up in the air. But i...i see myself now. It was entanglement , where i could not tell where she began and i stopped. Unpacking the karma i arrived with.

~~*

moon beam slows down time
skips the clouds into another dimension - thrown back with a jolt to earthspace
a mystic ballet , seamless motions pivot , friendly air smells like summer and new things growing -
hidden behind a slight veil of purple mist , moon draws her magnificence,
etched onto the passing cumulus clouds -
carp fish , wild boar running through the woods
smiley face mid wink and tongue stuck out.  
swift wind accompaniment
dew point reached
light cardigan weather cardigan present from the cosmos
overpriced chips , parks with no soul , bars laying music to the concrete , way too loud ,

stretching with bare legs and grey knee high socks against the chilly air on top of the dust bowl dog park
pitter patter dreaming of blowing gas stations up and skipping away on cctv cameras leading to us as the perpetrators.

parents try to give us what they didn’t have .... balancing out the imbalance in themselves
being parented is somewhat selfish
they -
shaped by the lack of fathers or the abusive mother
generations imbibe the past in transmitted transmuted  format

only knowing the extremes , the extremes they give
but we

not quite midnight , not quite morning wondering stars , ingest , test and leave what we do not need , with enough guts to get out there and do our own thing..... move as we feel compelled to move , grab the life we have been gifted and play !
play damit.
PLAY.

that is what my mother sometimes does not see too, the theatre production stage we are on.

Enough guts , to play this play for all it’s worth ,

we’re rewarded with each other to fall asleep to.

Don’t get me wrong , doesn’t mean we don’t take it serious.. picking up trash in the park , way after dark.

The game is to ward off thoughts of too heavy thinking
lightness moves.

I’m an apricot , ripe on the tree - ready for picking
I am a cherry , offering to be popped
3 tequila shots or the equivalent of a blurred memory inside me
my heart is bleeding a little at the acts my body is moving through
i am bleeding a little at the acts my body is moving through

i bleed for 4 days , 5 days.
i am amazed that he pulled out. i find that incredible -
as if a man is wild in the act of mergence and unable to control himself ,

ideas of male/female roles imprinted on me
from parents , **** and public school  - where girls are made into women
at 13 ,
we discuss when we will “lose our virginity” i say 15 if i’m ready (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

i should expect him to *** inside me , because i am the subservient woman and he should do as he pleases
i think it magical his heightened awareness -
i see his majestic beauty on his well formed muscles
and the hotel room his family owns , or the kick *** motorbike he drives and the supply of beachfront joints.


and still it is now 1 year later that i am in pain.


a fire on my heart and a sick feeling in my stomach
i am sick because i swallowed the lies and hated myself , i truly believed i was worth that level of respect. the fire burns swiftly in my heart because i am enraged and sorrowful at my ignorance. I am partly ashamed at my lack of empathy
for myself and partly in awe at my magnificence.


We look at virginity as pure , unsoiled.

Pure. Unsoiled.
****. Subconsciously telling our mothers , sisters , aunties and grandma’s that they are ***** for exercising their basic ****** function. Shaming us for feeling pleasure.....the connotations are different for brothers , fathers , uncles and grandpas. A pat of well done on the back , you are now a “man”.............well .. i’ll be ******..... it amazes me how these sly , low blows are hidden right in plain sight.

well fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk that !

I know i love myself now
with the respect i would rain down upon any other fellow being .

i wish : for them and me to be able to love without fear, disgust and shame.
i wish to allow my energy from that moment to feed others who need help along their path of self-love.

Now my cosmic womb is treated with respect and reverence
enjoying myself freely.

Oh but , i will say thank you , and a sensi bow , for the lesson learnt.

Never again will i put others on a pedestal they have not earnt.
Especially if it has anything to do with my *****.

watching as my mother is dragged up the stairs
by her arms and hair

I get pushed down them for my efforts to try and stop him,
she is shouting screams into the wall -

they go into the bathroom ,
on the other side of the locked door, my blood runs cold.
next to me my siblings and aunt cry.

only screams and whimpers escape under the crack in the door
words of : “please stop”
“help”

      “no - you are hurting me”

he said “ i just wanna talk to you” . then my memory stops until the police are inside the house

Question them both. My mother in the kitchen  -
he is .. i don’t remember , it doesn’t matter....
i sit on the stairs that he painted white not that long ago , where my friends and i had stuck mirrors on each step , making the stairs look like they are floating.. kinda... i do not feel.

The cops stick around for less than 20 mins , arrest my step-dad.
As they take him away , i run upstairs watch from the window. It is a grey london day , they duck his head into the car and drive.

i do not feel.
the downstairs bathroom with stone + aqua tiles , collage of posters , family photos , newspaper clippings, postcards and play pamphlets become’s my hole in the wall for the next few hours. i cry. it is rain, matching the growing darkness outside.
i feel bad for letting the police take him away without saying anything.
i do not feel.

the shouting arguments
heard whilst i try to fall asleep , night
after night had been hiding the extent of unhappiness
of sadness expressed as anger in them both. At the time i could only smell fear
on their breath.
The next time there would be a yellow green bruise on her face and
screams at 4am.

11 year old me
has few memories of home.

Tin ,
straw ,
flesh.

mineral ,
plant ,
animal.

beings - creating - because that is what they like to do,

know the pact
that one makes
  creation = destruction.

The choosing...
upgrading,
aware,
to the magnificence of their power , yet grounded enough to not be lured ,
..................................bye said ego. Hello said Ego.

Everything we do now effects the next 7 generations ,
choose wisely.
With wisdom comes great responsibility
if one chooses
to uses

their wisdom wisely.

Music in thai , words rein and rain from my unassuming lips, so rarely do i sing in my mother tongue, sounds like honey to me.
poet am i , i can not write nor read the sounds fully, yet sing with such ease :)


Falling into the cloud river once again , although a little more windy i would say.
Carved with ravines and canyons ,
wind and earth meeting together by the water.
true trickster smiles wink in the fading daylight.

apple butter is my jam.
Fir tree
seeking rain shelter ,

edit photo , write poem , draw or paint  every day . Ritual meditation . Doing what creates love,

beings - creating - because that is what they like to do,

mineral ,
plant ,
animal

Tin ,
straw ,
flesh.