Hi everyone – been a while. If you follow me on Instagram, I’ve been fairly vocal about all sorts of the societal… issues that have honestly really gotten in the way of my writing. I promise, though, that my reading has not and will never be slowed. While I still ponder my next long-form blog post, I though I’d share a bit of another project.
I have a small collection of poetry, most hardly anything more than a few scribbles to work out some angst. This one below, that I’m tentatively naming ‘I Am Told’, is one that I actually feel good about – I think free verse might come most naturally to me. Inspired by recent events, I felt up to putting it out for folks to read. So, enjoy!
Content warning: implied transphobia/homophobia and implied suicide
I am told that night is darkest before the dawn.
Or that you can’t legislate out hate, only
Wait and see who stands up
And hope, plead that they have the courage you sorely miss.
Yes, Spring follows Winter, but why does it
Still feel so cold? The sun’s sweet succor
Penetrates the day but still thaws no hearts.
They remain shuttered, resolute in dark ignorance.
I’m also told that our time will come.
Indeed history bears it out, but
Still – I must scream for those who cannot,
Those whose voices are silenced while we wait.
I’m told that this one (which one?)
Is a senseless tragedy
With no precursor or forethought.
How could we have known?
But we did know, we told you so.
We scream and gnash and tear
And when we try to speak
Are summarily silenced in the name of holy decorum.
Decorum?
You say it like such excess still matters
When we faceless statistics are fighting for our breaths
And yet are maligned as we find joy in our hedonistic Pride.
So instead we must tell each other
Like a mantra obsessively repeated
That we matter, we were here
And yes, maybe, the dawn will appear.
Their stories won’t be told except
By us who remember.
Not just serving as a cautionary tale
But someone who was real and who mattered.
I tell you that you are beautiful.
You, lovely, however you come.
Winter’s diminutive day looms mountain-high,
But you, who matter, will surmount the night.
Blake is Reading 