There Is No # To #SaveTheWorld
My past couple of Friday blogs have been my reaction to racism, sex, slut shaming, the disabled – someone has taken me to task for speaking about such matters because of my white male privilege. It seems I lack authority to speak authentically about my experiences of these issues.
abandoned?
In the past I’ve been ‘sushed’ because I don’t have an MFA (& thus am not qualified to be a poet for certain stages here in TO); not educated enough to have sufficiently informed comments on the writing process; not published enough; not hot enough for erotica readings; too male for some stages; too sexual for others; too old for most. Thinking marriage is crock casts me out of the good queer corner.
I can’t help but think this is yet another form of censorship – it’s not as if I’m proposing radical thought, or attempting to denigrate or mock the difficulties people face. I know my words can’t rescue them, can’t cure a culture that often fosters keeping people in their place even if that means killing them. There are no easy fixes. As I heard at Capturing Fire: there is no # to save the world.
lured down the grate?
I don’t fall into those easy gestures either – it would simple enough to do #….matters (you fill in that blank) but too many seem to # as an avoidance of being active in change. ‘At least I #ed your issue.’ Appearing to something while doing nothing has become too #easy.
they went this a-way
So I write about these things, about how they impact my life. I’m not looking for #approval, or even attention. But it seems my white male privilege discounts me in many circles. Such is life – I don’t jump through hoops & I’m tired of going around in #circles.
Abandonment Issues
the man in the cafe
is is getting louder faster
almost yelling into the cell phone
breaking up with someone
can’t tell if its male female
but man is he upset
‘how the fuck can you
just text me like that
how
you know I had that meeting this morning
couldn’t you wait till …’
apparently the object of his affection
ended the connection once again
he slams the cell phone on the table
jarring the coffee but not tipping over
he glares around at us
at me
some look away
I shrug
feel no sympathy
maybe a bit of shame though
for knowing more about him
than I want to know
hope he won’t come over
to commiserate with a fellow sufferer
because my suffering ended
when he stop shouting
he now has that
how dare you listen to my pain look
daring me to say something anything
to deflect his rubbed raw frustration
now I want to laugh
glad I still have my ear buds in
but that I turned them off
when he started shouting
the free lunch time coffee shop theatre
brought to you by
people who don’t give a shit
about polluting the air
with their person tribulations
yet want you to respect their privacy anyway
he gabs his cell and stuffs it in his pocket
makes a fist with his other hand
brings it down on his paper coffee cup
crushing it to the table
a brown flood bursts
splashing his vintage sports coat
pale blue shirt and vintage tie
his face goes from take that
to a deeper anger
I have to look down at this point
pretend to be looking at my playlist
a coffee jockey comes over with a cloth
begins to dab at him
get the fuck away from me
he shoves her away
elbows the door open
disappears into the street
his abandoned cell phone rings
November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo 2016
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TOpoet 
speechless with awe – adding this to the list of favs. (both the post and the piece)
feel free to reblog 🙂
You got it.
Reblogged this on Dana Ellington Myles, MAPW and commented:
Very thought provoking. 🙂 And his poetry is always worth a read.