Postivism, Let’s Be Honest

Don’t get too comfortable.  There

are things people never want


to hear. Words are seeds. If you plant

someone else’s verbs you never know


what you mean. It is good to plant seeds

to both nourish body and spirit. But


when words become mindless copy

and paste, acting like authenticity, meaning is lost.


If facing the wound, itself, standing in your doorway,

could you look at all the blood, tears, broken bones,


bashed hymens—girls too young to count. I feel

the cost of it turning inside of me. What space


would you open to my body covered with dead

babies suckling my graffiti mile marker skin,


with their sweet lips dripping AIDS down my body

to pity at your feet? Could you open your cozy home


to the woman in the burka crying in what sounds

like something a terrorist could say? Is there the right


coffee, in your orderly house, for the little girl I carry

in my arms, the one who was raped beyond


what she could count, sometimes she’s too shocked

to notice the pain of penis ramming


anything it fits in? Could you even look

at her? Would you think it strange if a person


from the long past shows up to cry, not saying

an intelligible word simply reciting Landay, after Landay,


after Landay, weeping in Pashto?  Does the food

you offer nourish your soul, before you offer it


to others? You are right, someone is always

listening. Hearing what isn’t said is the hard


part. Would you open the door to someone who will

make you question your own ideologies,


instead of right click, click copy, click post window,

paste? Could you really take in the broken and beaten,


or is it just a coffee date? Why don’t you reach out authentically

only like you would?  Instead you plagiarize your heart


with someone else’s loving

thoughts.  I agree we need more love.



  1. Just brilliant!

  2. Reblogged this on disdainfulbeauty.

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