peacock poems for my mother and friends (on the anniversary of getting well)

i don’t write much theory on here anymore. mostly prose and poetry- which is a kind of theory, so i will change that thought.

i don’t write much of what i did when this blog got noticed. i want to, and will, but for now i am content in expressing my truth and theory in other ways. Not everything has to be in paragraph format- ready to be read, underlined and critiqued. I believe that the intention and experience of a person can always be found in their labor and art. Damn, what they say. People say all kinds of things but they do and create what they feel.

a year ago i began to get sick- i was infected with HIV and had a severe throat infection. i lay in a bed, unable to eat for close to two weeks and thought about what it would mean to finally leave the life that i had somewhat wanted to be over for so long. i was sad when my mind rested on images of my friends and family because i knew i would be missed- in some form and because i would miss them. i firmly believe that it was their energy that kept me here and that saved me. as i begin to get well, i thought about what this new life was. i didn’t know whether to be angry or excited at my second chance.

this year has been like a burning of things and old-selves. it has been one of rediscoveries, new discoveries and relapses. of new love and strength for myself and my folk.

this poem is a reflection on that. it started out as an open letter to the universe thanking it for my life and friends. it ends as the same. i am thankful for all of these things-

for those who have been there to hold me and hear me, thank you.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

i will always be there

when breath is let out,

old thoughts exhumed- and shade left.

i will be smiling back at you behind thin sheets of glass, wether asked for or not.

 

I am one of those Black boys humming Diana to himself, imagining Mahogany

under sun sets

and who finds delight in smiles exchanged

between me and would be lovers on the train.

feeling the tenseness pass

while praying to be hid from the seeing eyes

praying to given the space to speak and be held.

 

Sometimes i am called an old gay.

Mocked because my slippers are as ever ready as my sass

and because cuddling, much like drag queens singing Diana, is supreme.

 

When i am happy, i am a peacock

capable of glitter flames sent flying from underneath my tail.

And I lay satisfied with what I done.

I feel good lovin’ and restin’.

 

Tonight i’m finna dream u dirt roads

leading to the familiar shacks of our beginnings.

where you and i can sit and talk

of spells

of the lives held in each other’s absence

and maybe laugh because crying feels too deep.

Id like my hug to cast off illnesses brought on by this destructive world.

and we can be whole- without pity.

 

mama, i am one of them punks who likes world peace

and dreams of fighting towards it.

through building with you.

i know that revolution, like us, is queer and Black and loud and smiles something fierce, despite it all.

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