Category: Poetry

Poetry, queer

A Citadel to Normalcy

jennadewitt

How grim. How foolish. How fallow

The castle built for sameness.

Now a plain, dull, drab

Myopic of potential greatness

Strict rules of what to do and be,

Keep tongues under lock and key

Loose lips, loose hips, loose chains

And hate will fill the sticky heat

Shield the children’s eyes

From all but the Sword and gun

Apply the torniquet swiftly, child!

The battle rages on

Don’t be different

Guard all that you say

Don’t let them know you’re Happy

They’ll take you away

No, you can’t wear that

To school, to church, to play

I’m sorry but I have to lie

You’ll understand someday

Parades get canceled that used to be riots.

We’ve been here before

Contraband dark history

The books on fire once more

A haven of assimilation

Ignorance and isolation

Just holding hands in love

“Indecency!” and “Perversion!”

You’re right. We are rising. You’re right.

We will destroy the nuclear, atomic core.

Because it’s killing us, it’s radiation.

It’s death we’ve survived before.

We will say our names

We’ll protect our young

Remember the blood on your hands

With every rainbow banner hung

The citadel will crumble.

We who topple giants

Will march around the gates

In drag, in dance, in defiance

Blow our horns in protest

Until prison walls a-tumbling fall

Music echoes off the stones

Liberation comes for all

Shoot arrows from your fortress

Bare your swords of fear

Clanging on collective shields

Of the Weird and Proud and Queer.

You will see our colors

Black and Brown; pink, white, and blue

All of the promised spectra

Breaking bricks with every hue

Though courts, laws, and politicians

Fail us every day

Your citadel of normalcy

Is destined for decay.

Poetry

Relating

jennadewitt

I don’t know how you feel

I haven’t had your particular expression

Of grief, of loss, of pain

I can’t say I’ve been through that

Exactly, particularly, specifically

In the ways you experienced it

But I do know what it’s like

To be what parents fear for their child

To grow up and become

I do know what it’s like

For every cell to groan with need

For answers and Why and I hate this

I do know how it feels

To have so much love to give

If only someone wanted it, wanted me

I know intimately the story

Of sitting in the soul dark silence

Knowing no one is coming to save you from this

I know being different, I know alone,

I know the constant low hum of fear

As you smile in a privileged outer life

I know Mirrorball, and

This is Me Trying,

And Tied Together With a Smile

I can’t say I know your life

But maybe in part,

And you know mine in some way

And we can see each other

As kin, and gently say

Me too. You are not the only one.

faith, Poetry, queer

Politicized

jennadewitt

We say

Your theology leads to harm

You say

That’s tough love for rebels

We say

Your politics lead to death

You say

Words can’t hurt

We say stop killing us

You say

Stop being dramatic

We grieve at headlines

We cry in news photos

We raise the alarm

And violence still comes

We say we told you so

You say now is not the time

To politicize a tragedy.

Mental health, neurodivergence, Poetry

life preserver

jennadewitt

do you ever dream about them

the teachers, the doctors, the counselors

the psych professor who saw a lot of promise in you

the professionals who didn’t see it

do you ever shout at them in your sleep

i was just a kid

and you were the expert on the tower

with training and power

who was supposed to notice

that i was drowning

asexuality, Poetry

Ace Bewareness Week

jennadewitt

This is a silly little poem about Twitter, but I really do hope we can recapture the joy and belonging and welcome this Ace Awareness Week in the midst of all the creepy, scary, and ghoulish opinions on the internet. Hope you find all treats and no tricks this year!

Smell it approaching.

It’s coming up fast,

haunting our Pride with dread.

The bad takes change colors

hot as the spices in your cup.

The ringing cheer in the air

from the stadium chants,

“Conform, conform conform.”

The ignorant blue checks moan

with laments they have no knowledge of.

The biting wind of aphobia

swirls the rotting leaves. 

It’s that time of year again!

Ace awareness week is coming.

disability, Mental health, Poetry

The Unnamed.

jennadewitt
Photo by SHVETS production on Pexels.com

This is a prayer for the mystery case

The pain with no clear cause
The symptoms that don’t match
The lab test that comes back clear

The numbers say you’re fit as a fiddle
So why is your body screaming
As you beg the white coats to care

This is a prayer for the ones unsure
If they deserve to belong here
Disabled. As if it’s a title you earn

This is for the ones who have a hard time
defending themselves against the “just”s
Because maybe this one will be right

And it’s less hope and more desperation
As you swipe your card and try it.
You’re running out of time

You’re running out of your mind
Trying to figure out how to survive
In a new normal each day

And when people ask, you say sure!
Because it still doesn’t occur to you
You’ll be gritting your teeth the day of the event.

But you don’t have a name yet
Or ever. Maybe. Maybe you won’t know
What to tell people when you say sorry

And they don’t understand fully
Because yesterday you seemed fine
And it’s hard to describe what you feel

The symptom list inconclusive
Is hard to describe without
A name for what’s within

This is a prayer for our minds and hearts
and stomachs as they churn
with grief and anxiety and fear

For the choices we make with no guidance
For the questions with no answers
For the mystery that leaves us without

Community. Support. Resources. Research. Plans. Treatment. Hope.

I pray you find a doctor with undying curiosity
I pray you find empathy in a nurse’s needle
I pray you find a treatment that works

I pray your insurance covers you with no fuss
Like a blanket on a soft couch
With all you need within reach.

I pray you hang on to tomorrow
Breathe in and out, do what you can,
And in time you find a name.

faith, Poetry

The Remodel

jennadewitt
Photo by Kelly L on Pexels.com

Deconstruction not as in Derrida

But baseboards pulled gently,

Carefully, finished by small hands

Decades long past



Cabinet doors stacked on the floor

You never know what you’ll reuse

Standing back, hands on hips

Deep in imagining


Burn the shoebox of him

and loss and the road not taken

Except the teddy bear

You place to the side.


 

Fill up the bags of clothes and sheets

Cry as you pull in to the shelter

Hand over the memories

Hoping it will help 


a fresh start

To begin

That’s what we need

To tear it all down and click Refresh

Deconstruct every assumption

The sofa’s never been over there

What if we let some light in

Build a shelf for the keepsakes


Some porcelain smashed and an exhale

Some wrapped to store away

No longer on display

But part of you all the same


Grateful for what brought you here

But not caged by it

Hammers to demolish

and to drive the tiny nail


20-odd years and it’s time for change

Ideas and patterns

The fabric that holds you,

Shades in the colors of life


Each brick and paving stone 

Handled one by one

Reconsidered and examined

To determine its place


What if, what could be

What has been here all this time

And you didn’t even know it

Growing resilient new life


Who would have thought

Destruction could be this

This beautiful, this curious, 

This wonder-full

After, when you’re covered in sheetrock

And you’ve cried it out 

And the tarps cover the floor

It begins. Hope.

Stand up from the bathroom floor

And you see it in the reflection

What if… What if that were there

Pieces fall into place


One day, home looks familiar again

Different, so much different

But more you, somehow, 

More who you’ve always been.

You’ve become. 

Now that it’s in motion, unraveled

It keeps going

Evolving


Deconstructing and reconstructing

Not as in podiums and dusty studied texts

But as a heart pumps blood,

As the soul beckons you home. 

faith, Poetry

Welcome home

jennadewitt

Welcome, welcome to the wandering
I was once welcomed
And here you are too

Take a tea or a coffee.
There is no brochure
You’ve left rulebooks behind

It’s the wilderness, yes,
And it feels so alone
But look around! There’s a caravan

Wagons and timbrels
The young and the wise
We’re all growing

Welcome, you’re welcome
Don’t be ashamed
It’s never too late or too early

You’re not behind
There’s no supply list
No one leader or route.

You’ll wander awhile
Take your time
You’ll settle in, no rush.

One day you will welcome
One day you’ll be the guide
But we’re all just evolving

Take out your tools
Get down to the bones
Clean out and start anew

Remember it’s yours
Not anyone else’s
Only you know what to be

It’s not the destination
Or a linear line
There is no success or perfection

Holiness wanders
Righteousness blooms
Hunger and thirst are rewarded

Belonging comes in
When you least expect it
Exploration through yeses and noes

Find your path
Find yourself
Find freedom out here

The wilderness
welcomes you
home.

aromanticism, Poetry, queer

I heal myself

jennadewitt

She needs him
Like she needs air
He needs her
Like water

But I breathe
I drink, I gasp
I drown
All on my own

She soothes her hands
through her hair
She kisses her
Soft and gentle

But I tighten my jaw
And say I’m fine
Because I will be
I am my own

He brings them soup
And pills and tea
They relax into him
He is there

But I will my way
To the shelf
I pour and heat
and brew alone

I choose myself
I chose alone
But I didn’t choose
To be made this way

I can’t pretend
I don’t wish
For you
To see
Me.

Written for Aroventures: AAA Literary Journal: Aromantic Awareness Week 2021.