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Dani Jan 2018
I’ve got buzzing in my feet
cause of this new pair of shoes
and I’m feeling pretty sweet
like there’s nothing to lose.

They’ve got thick rubber soles
and bright white laces
The kind to take a stroll
with deep wide paces.

My bright yellow pair of sneakers
I wonder how they look
Or if I seem too eager
Or if I’ll be mistook.

They make me grin so wide
I feel unrecognizable
My heart so full of pride,
My smile’s undeniable.

I can’t help but feel neat
when I squeak against the sidewalk
or when I saunter down the street
and meander round a roadblock.

I’ve got buzzing in my feet
cause of this new pair of shoes
and I’m feeling pretty sweet
like there’s nothing to lose.
A poem to be read out loud, play with sound.
  Jan 2018 Dani
J
We often wonder why our hearts
get broken, and I think I am
beginning to understand why.

A tiny thing, so precious yet so
fragile, had to be undone before
it can be made whole again.

My guess is, in putting the pieces
back together;
we find strength in weakness.
We find courage in vulnerability.
We understand ourselves better.

And with what we lose,
we also gain more of ourselves.
Trust the process. Self-talk.
Dani Jan 2018
Before the thunder coats my lungs I whisper soft

The storm is a cacophony of pink that flows between slow and stop.
In every direction, pointed hats and sharp signs
stinging words and biting looks
phrases dotted with peaches and comb-overs
hardened women fiercer than the surging wind.

I had never imagined feeling so powerful until
50,000 women
and men and nonbinary friends
engulfed my senses in magenta and bubblegum
and lightning struck 100,000 times in the space of two blocks.
Dani Nov 2017
I crave the comfort of white noise.
When I fall asleep every night, my box fan carries me as I drift off.
Its blades spin up and its humming fills my room
Like a sweet lullaby leading me off to a silent world.
I used to play albums off of an old CD player:
Anything to block out the whispers inside of my head,
Anything to keep me away from my thoughts.
During the day, when there’s no fan to keep me safe
I turn to the comfort of music:
Pop a headphone in and my feelings melt away.
It keeps me focused, but in a way, it’s my distraction too:
The kind that fills my head with lyrics instead of questions.

Questions.
Endless questions.
They’re the white noise inside my head the rest of time.
They’re the bullies and I’m their victim
But there’s no one else around to save me from their violence:
They beat me till I’m ****** and bruised
Mind sliced raw from their attacks,
What are you doing here?
What’s the point?
Why do you even bother?
Beating into my weakened defenses
They kick me especially when I’m down.
They gang up inside my head, doubling, tripling
Until they’re a chorus of white noise echoing off the walls.
They keep me locked up
In a cell with nothing but a bed made of broken glass
And a small fan in the corner,
Humming me to sleep every night
Because my room can offer me no other comforts.
I feel the questions just outside of my cell,
And I hide from them because there’s nowhere to run:
I’m a prisoner pressed into the furthest wall
As they taunt me from the other side of the bars I’ve built.
Why can’t you be happy?
Or normal?
Why don’t you just go away for a while?
Maybe forever?
I plead with them to stop their screaming
So they laugh at me instead,
A high pitched squeal that makes my hair stand on end,
My body tenses up, my ears start to ring.
And suddenly they’re something else entirely
The faces of my friends appear cackling
Questions spilling from their mouths:
Are we just pretending?
Do we really hate you?
What makes you think we care about you?
How do you know it isn’t just an act?
Their laughter surges in my mind
Like a sickening joke that makes my stomach turn,
And the white noise grows ever louder.
Even when the fan starts to takes their place,
Masking their white noise,
One finds its way in
To plant its seed of doubt
On the edge of my subconscious
As I begin to drift to sleep:
Are you just pretending?

I feel my breathing seize
Because suddenly I wonder if any of this is true,
Or if I’ve created a false reality for attention.
The thought seeps into my mind like poison
Whispering to me that I can’t even trust myself,
Tearing down every defense I’d built
Brick by brick
Until I’m curled up in a pile of tear stained rubble,
Knees bruised purple and yellow,
Lips chewed ****** and raw,
Eyes swollen red and glistening wet.
What’s wrong with me?
Am I hopeless?
Cause it feels like I’m spiraling out of control
Losing my sense of self to the endless tide of worry
And I’m not sure how to stop it.
So I begin to ask myself
What am I doing here?
What’s the point?
Why do I even bother?

Because I can’t tell what the truth is anymore
If my fan keeps the questions out,
Or if I’m so used to them;
I crave the comfort of their
White noise.
Dani Nov 2017
Crying is not pretty.
It is not like in the movies
where tears spill down your cheeks
in perfect pearlescent lines.
It’s ugly and visceral: raw
emotion pouring from your eyes
in thick streams to stain sleeves.
It is when your sinuses clog up
and snot gushes out to coat
your upper lip in gooey layers.
It is when you breathe as deep
as the kiddie pool; no lifeguard on duty
and you start to sputter, inches down.

It is when you sob in the shower
so you can’t tell the difference
between your thoughts and your other filth.
It is when you press your face under the water
and try to hold your breath
until you can’t feel your lips.
It’s when you step onto the tile,
cold beneath your feet, wish that
your skull may unexpectedly come into
contact with the counter corner.
It’s when you’ve used up all your tears,
so you dry heave from your eyes
and fill your lungs with an urgency:
desperate to feel anything and nothing.

It is part of the healing process.
It is when you bury yourself
in a pool of soiled Kleenex
so that when you are done,
you can see all of your
feelings contained
in the boogers of your pile.
  Nov 2017 Dani
storm siren
Do you think
You could find the solution
To all this confusion
Within the lines
Of our Constituition?

No, no, hear me out,
Listen to these words,
That's what it's all about.

See, you think this is a Christian nation,
So let me explain,
Let me offer an explanation.

The point of this place,
Of our foundation,
Was freedom from persecution,
So let me clear the air
Of your verbal pollution.

See, the answer is in the opening statement,
In the words that expressed our need
For a moral replacement.

Listen, just listen,
To the words that would christen
Ever chance we are given
To pursue our ambition.

See, you want freedom.
You claim that is your cause,
But I'd wait a second,
Let my words give you pause.

Do you want freedom of religion,
Or is it just your decision
To bend with omission
Making the moral-north
Your special brand
Of Christian superstition?

See, you might not like
What I have to say,
But not much really matters
When you've been led astray.

The words that were written
Were giving permission
To speak fact or fiction
In whatever rendition
Suits your composition.

What was said was
"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion,"
Removing any notion
Of this nation being Christian.

They went on to add
"... or prohibiting the free exercise thereof;"
Establishing that we should dispose of
This notion that no love
Is the only free love.

It was then mentioned
That no one within power
Could prevent the intention
Of speaking loudly enough
That all could listen.

We were told our right
Was freedom of speech
That we all have
Our very own thoughts to preach.

We were given freedom of the press,
To say whatever truth must be addressed,
So we have more options,
More answers
Than just "No" or "Yes".
Nevertheless,
This process
Seems to digress
Away from the point,
To liberate the oppressed.

Listen,
This world is filled with danger,
We cannot take pride in being a nation of strangers,
Where the failings of our system
Is taken out on a teenager.

I just feel like we were supposed to be better,
Than a thread of angry tweets
And a Scarlet Letter.
I look back at those kids
Who have only blood on their sweaters,
And I start to remember
That we, the people,
We, the hopeful,
We don't surrender.
We are stronger together.

And as a former child
Whose smile
Was defiled
And wasn't given a chance
Before being exiled,

I urge you to look at your own,
To thank those you love
For always coming home.

I dare you to look an innocent in the eyes
And tell them there are so many possessions
That are worth more than their lives.

Because, to you,
Nobody is their own.
It is well known
That you will cast the first stone
Until you hear the break of their bones.
Why is it so important to you,
Someone else's *** chromosome?
Someone's reason for leaving home?
Someone making choices for their own?

You act like you do no wrong,
That as long
As you spit venom
The hatred will make you strong
But I know
That you knew all along
The enemy was never me
Or the people
We strive to be,

But it was the voice
That you use so cruelly
And told us not to believe,
So believe me when I say,
There will come a day
One cold Sunday
Where the runaways
Won't run away,
And you'll hear us say
"Come what may,
We're here to stay."

Because the rate of suicides
Is becoming much too high
For us to try
To hide
This monster that's eating us up inside
We try to confide
That it's this or that side
But we are all aware
That if we just put down our pride,
And stood with our hands held together
Our eyes fixed on the sky
We could do better,
We could love one another,
We could accept every sister or brother or other.
It just depends
On how soon we want the bloodshed to end.
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