social commentary
There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
i do not know
I do not know yet all the things that I am. But what I know for sure is this: I am the earth. I know this because on a shady afternoon, my legs have become the playground for ants. I don’t know yet all the things that I am, but I know that mine is the light in which the moths choose to dance. I know that the strands of my hair are like the leaves in autumn which shed every day and without warning. I am comforted to know that the same magnesium the makes up the moon is the same thing that makes up my bones and that her familial darkness is a mystery we all want to know. I am assured that the same crazy that I discovered months ago, was found by a Jung man, many many dreams ago. I am comforted by tarot cards and old mythology I take as truth. I am comforted in the texts that remind me, 'no one has it all figured out, always.'
By Mingling with the Moon 3 years ago in Poets
The comfort of unanswered calls:
You know when you haven’t picked up the phone in a while to answer that video call? And you also haven’t showered in a day and a half, so your hair is definitely unkempt. But then in the morning, you wake up and suddenly, you have energy to call back. You muster up the courage for conversation and pick up the phone. You even set it to video call and then, you see ‘Calling’ on the Whatsapp screen. The relief of not seeing the ‘Ringing’. And so you know they won’t answer, but you still keep looking and then you notice your eyebrows and they’re kind of raggedy and you can almost see the little girl in yourself? The girl that had that same messy but smooth hairline, those soft and unbrushed eyebrows, and you can almost swear your eyes are brighter, like they were when you were 6 years old. I love it when the video call isn’t answered and I get to look back at myself in this way. And then I get to sit with that little girl for a while, and I get to have the conversations I was really avoiding. The calls with my younger self.
By Mingling with the Moon 3 years ago in Poets
