wild raspberries

i used to grow

wild raspberries

but you didn’t care for the chaos

of thorn and bramble

when i became your piece of property,

a squared-off

subdivision

of me

you wanted me to grow grass

so you tilled and you tamped

and you seeded my soil

with your image of beauty

individuality renounced

conformity blessed

dandelions disallowed

even this yellow attempt to create

in the way in which i was created

choked

herbicidal rain

artificial food

mechanical insemination

so i did what you asked

i grew grass,

a profusion of lush greenery

which you

relentlessly

cut

so flawlessly neat

so perfectly tidy

toilsome chore of control

but i used to grow

wild raspberries

eyes

when i look into your eyes

i see the eyes of a child born

innocent in this world

and i wonder what they saw

to make them see

the world the way they do?

i wish i knew the answer to

what makes eyes that harm

eyes that see an enemy

or a friend

in me

eyes that see dark clouds

or rainbows in a storm

for i don’t understand somehow

how raised fists and open arms both

create eyes that crave for love

how both poverty and wealth

create eyes that hunger

how it is that rich protection

as well as stark survival both

make eyes that fear

how pain gives birth to both

the eyes of oppression and compassion

for i can somehow see

that beholding pain gives birth to eyes

of both the rapist and the saint

so tell me Dahmer, Ghandi

Hitler, Theresa

Jesus and dear mirror

what did your eyes see

to make you see

the world the way you do?
 

 

 

 

 

 

dessicated valley

there is a land

an isolated valley

of nothingness

 

where seeds of hope

dropped from above

excitedly begin to grow

 

when occasional

violent storms

precipitate

upon the desiccation

 

eager sprouts

yearn

toward light, non-existent

 

as tentative roots

search

for something deeper

 

only to discover

toxic truths

of a land abandoned

long ago

 

desecrated soil

contaminated water

subterranean lethality

 

hope shrivels

ephemeral existence

impression in the dust

 

swept away

by these howling

whirlwinds of my pain

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