White Dog

I watched a movie recently about a white dog. In case you are unaware, a white dog is a dog that has been trained since infancy through abuse to hate and attack people of color. Sometimes these dogs are mislabeled as attack dogs. But they are not. Fueled by the hatred of their owners, they have been turned into murderous beings through mind manipulation.

These poor dogs cannot be cured. Taught to wise up in the presence of a gun? Sure. But to get rid of that hostility that has formed a part of their instinct? No. The only option is to put them down.

In the movie, a young woman encounters this dog and because it saved her life, she was unwilling to put it down and instead looked for someone crazy enough to try to un-train him. Fueled by hope and blinded by optimism, they saw progress where it wasn't being made which led to them unleashing this weapon, thinking it was discharged when their tampering had only made it worse. In the end, the dog was put down like it needed to be but it cost many of the characters wounds and covering up their involvement in the murder of a man by the white dog. It was a terrible mess, showing the damage that active racism can cause and how difficult it is to dispel.

Why am I writing about all of this? In part because I can't get that image of that dog covered in blood attacking people's jugulars. (It doesn't help that my own dog is so affectionate and it has created an unfounded two-second fear when she draws close.) In part because I have experienced first hand mulattoes accusing me of prejudice and micro-aggressions simply because of the lack of pigmentation that I was born with. I'm tired of listening to these sob stories of how offended I make people who don't know a thing about me or my history just by living the life that I do. (Watch 'Dear White People') I'm tired of hearing all of these swooping stereotypical statements made about me and people like me when watching that movie made my blood curl in a way that no horror movie has ever been able to. Because it's real. Because that kind of atrocity happens and could happen and I'm terrified of the day that I might meet someone with that level of loathing in their body-- hate so strong that they would literally create a monster out of a simple creature. I am not like that and I don't deserve nor desire to be grouped in with such pitiful people as those who experience xenophobia.

And it's been running. Rampant. First anti-semitism. Then, in the slave trade Irish and African alike. Koreans hating the Japanese while the average American can't spot the difference. Because all Asians look alike. Just like all black people look alike. All Native Americans look alike. All Europeans look alike. People look very similar to each other and the first distinguisher is pigment. Then hair, then clothes. After that, it's detail work. But that's not racism. That's not hate.

I don't care a lick about your prejudices and your opinions about whatever group catches your mind's fancy as long as you don't make it active. And the Holocaust was making it active. Breeding white dogs makes it active. Attacking Middle Eastern countries that we don't have a single justifiable reason to be in makes it active. I'm writing this as Britain just left the EU because they wanted more control over their borders, unaware of the consequences such an action would take. I'm sick and tired of hearing of people complain and shout racism when race wasn't even part of the question. We have some very real racist problems in this world but border security in Europe just isn't one.

Stop thinking in terms of what you can say or shout that makes you look like a victim and start focusing on how people are actively hated upon and hurt. Let's put down the white dogs. Even the ones that save our lives.

Poetry: I Want You to Sin

I told you a truth
You didn't wish to hear.
It was hard to say,
Swallowing my pride.

But

Your reaction was sour
Your rage was fierce.
Punishments to be enforced
Caused by my words.

So

In my sorrow
And in my grief
I sought comfort,
Hoping for relief.

Yet

When I reached others
To let them hear my words
The advice I received was,
"You shouldn't have said a word."

There is no honor here.

Poetry: Shaping Them

Balls of clay

Lumps of earth

Come, potter.

Show us your worth.

Poetry: The Doubtful

I trusted you
I told you too much
You take words in sorrow
Too literally

I know you see me with scorn
I'm below you
Less trustworthy
Misplaced my faith
A sinner damned

You're not perfect
You're flawed
In ways that take time to see
But you hide
Especially from me

But

There's a fog in the air
A mist
Swarming round
Distorting the eyes

Close them, I say
Trust me
I can lead us through
Because I see the way

Adamantly you refuse
"This is just another ruse
You'll lead me falsely
I won't give in
My eyes are as good as yours
I can find my own way through"

Your hot words of contempt
Burn
Smoke from your ears
Tears fall from my eyes
Sizzle
The murk gets thicker

Damn it, just listen!
Why can't you just trust me?
I know you don't want to
But damn your pride
At least I have a light

I know you view me low
But doesn't that just mean
That when we are seaside
Away from the mountains of home
That I'd be able to guide us better?
Why would I lead fallaciously?

Seriously, the resolution is so easy
The fix can happen so swiftly
But you're inflexible
Bucking with resistance
Don't you know
Horses have to be blindfolded
To get lead away from fire?

I know what I'm doing.
I don't break promises, and I promise you.
You can trust me, I will tell the truth.
Your skepticism is all on you.

Must I call you Thomas?
You put me to the test.
One I don't deserve
One I didn't earn
For hidden reasons
I can't understand.

When I've been true
My words lay open
The deeds match the words
So
What demons plague your mind?
Who smudges thine eyes?
(It seems so clear to me)

Full of hesitation
Motives closed
Refusing to budge

Think me a liar
Mishear the words
Full of your day's pain
Misread the tone
Of my words

I told you too much
Because you weren't ready to understand
Incapable of listening
Openly

(I trusted you
But you never trusted me
And now, lost in the haze
It's clear to see)

I can save myself
Abandon ship
Your emotional immaturity
Ties you to the mast
Screaming as I unknot the cords

Can I save us both?
In my effort will I lose my own chance?
It's a hot mess
All coming from insecurities
Building
Growing
Expanding
Flourishing

If I could just explain
If you could just listen
If we could just... talk

I could decide if I should leave you
Or fight
I could settle all these dilemmas
That need mutual approval

But I can't change your mind
I can't force your thinking
I can't make you want to
I can't act for two
When I'm just one

So, Thomas
Touch my flesh
Feel my pain
I'm willing to show you
If you wish to

Please
Hear my urgency
Respond in kind
A candle is useless
Without a flame

Wick and wax
Together as one
Light the way

No reservations
No fears
Push your doubts to the side
Be here
Be present
You can pick up your doubts later
If you wish or need to

I trusted you
A puppet for your will
Silent of the pain
The forced movements caused
Because I was glad in your delight

But somehow you heard of my pain
And yelled at my anguish
Deeming it a lie
Me? Liar
Stating you can never trust me
Because I gave too willingly

So here I am now
Both of us hurt
Recuperating
I reach out
"Let the hurt be gone"
You see malice, a game
A need for revenge
Drawn up by spite

I wonder, Thomas
What made you
Hate me so?
You really are

The Doubtful

Poetry: Jumbled Thoughts

My eyes feel like they've been crying for hours, swollen and red, aching. I haven't cried in days and I don't know why I feel so empty inside. So many things keep building up and I don't know how to handle them all at once. People keep telling to take things one step at a time, break it down into little projects. But they fail to see how intermingled it all is and how consumed I am by the number and weight of it all. No one prepared me for this. No one's trying to help, either. Just start working, keep moving, don't stop to think. This is how you live. There's no time to smell the roses. Contemplate in your head, don't let anyone down. Everyone has high expectations that you've never wanted and you have to meet them so just do it. Stress about it to yourself, in your head. Think you are a failure? Wrong, you are one. Fix that. Fix you. If you ever stop, you might not be able to start back up again. You can't let that happen. Let your refusal to be the blemish in their lives motivate you to be better. Do your job, excel, exceed expectations, work speedily, clean up your mess, never argue, think smart, be efficient, talk with confidence that you've never possessed. You're not good enough and never will be. Don't cry about it, prove your repentance with your deeds. Apologize with your actions. You have to be perfect and you keep messing up. Don't you know the price of failure? Live in stressful fear.

I don't know how to talk to you.
When in conversation, it's easy.
I love it.
I think hope you do too.
Everything is so clear then.
Our tones match when we hear each other.
But
There's this distance now.
And I don't know how to interpret it.
As an after thought, I can look back.
Well, duh. Obviously is was this, not that.
But in the moment?
What does your silence mean?
Why do you refuse to speak with me?
Am I really that terrible?
Have you been hearing poisonous words about me?
Do you listen?
I don't know your thought process.
Not when I can't see you.
Not when you won't express yourself to me.
Silence.
Demons creep by and whisper to me in the silence.
Fear grows, spreads.
There are 24 hours in a day; 10080 minutes in a week.
You used not one to say anything.
What could I mean to you if...
I'm not important enough to keep in the loop?
I know it's irrational.
You're probably just busy; just absent minded.
Maybe you thought that your one-worded text
Responding to the only non-important message
Was good enough.
It left all my questions empty.
But it showed that you read them.
I'm shocked, how do I interpret your (lack of) action?
I don't know how to talk to you.

I wake in the middle of the night.
Was it supposed to be on purpose today or not?
Deranged by tiredness, I stumble out of bed.
Splash some cold water on that face.
Wake up.
Get ready.
Put on your uniform, add a smile.
Don't you dare look tired.
You aren't paid to complain.
I feel like a wanderer preparing for the day.
The sun won't wake for hours.
It's a summer night; the cold night is almost warm.
I forgot what pitch black looks like.
Put your hair back, grab your lunch.
This is how all your coworkers see you.
I wonder if they'll ever see me as me.
Arriving early consists of a lot of waiting.
Arriving on time could be late.
Arriving late could mean trouble.
Don't want to risk it.
Being outside right now I wonder
Will I get used to this?
It's unclear what I think.
Focus.
You're too tired to go off
On another contemplative side road.
Hello, morning.

I have been standing here for hours, baking bread.
I've been relaxing the never-ending tension in my shoulders.
How?
I try to remember what it feels like for a snow flake
To fall upon my cheek
Surrounded by 400 degree heat
I remember what snowfall looks like so
Why is this part so hard?
Memory is a tricky thing.

I sit down, defeated. Nothing bad happened today and there's nothing immediate that I could point to for reference of this despondent moment. But now I'm sitting and it'll take me a good (half) hour before I'll find the strength to stand again. I feel like Eeyore. I wonder what it would be like to have blue skin. If I add some diamond tattoos, I'd look like Elphaba's lover. Do you think humans will invent a surgery to attach monkey tails to our tail bones to give them use once more? I wonder how obvious such a transitional seam would appear. Could it be permanent? Would there be motor control or would it just dangle there uselessly behind, like the cat costume tails you find around Halloween? If they join the gender movement, maybe these animalistic people will want their own bathroom. What would we even call it, though? (I'm probably alone because I'm so weird.) Where's the line between being self-deprecating and accepting the reality of your miserable self? I guess a lot of it is in appearances and tone; no matter intention. It's hard to state truth and be humble without looking either prideful or degrading. Life is about balance. When both ends are wrong, how do you balance? I often feel like I'm not wise enough for the life I live. Is that degrading? I don't know any more. I'll hate myself later if I'm not productive. Time to get up again, it was nice to stop and think. Not sure what such brooding accomplishes, though.

Today was a day of rest.
Not physically
Mentally
I still had things to do
But these were minor, menial
No thought is required to do them
In these moments I wish for the simple life
It seems so easily, so simple
Being a Stepford wife
And succeeding
Suddenly nothing matters
But finishing the task I set to do
Its completion?
Rewarding
In a way that I didn't ask for
That another could never give me
No matter how much praise.
I did this.
By myself.
In the simple,
I am healed
God loves me

In a game of tug and war,
There are two sides,
Four resulting options.
One. Side A pulls a win either by being stronger or a forfeit.
Two. Side B pulls a win either by being stronger or a forfeit.
Three. Sides A and B both forfeit.
Four. Neither side forfeits and yet their strengths cause a tie.
(I wanted a tie)
Two willing competitors,
Both up to the task?
Who wouldn't want that?
Both of you: Show up and give your all.
Let's play with war.
On your mark, get set...
Where did B go?
Was it a forfeit?
Absence.
Failure to show is failure to shine.
(It would have been better to lose
Get dragged into the mud hole)

I dream of death and darkness.
Demons taunting with their laughter.
Horrifying acts of hatred.
Makes my blood curl.
I wake, heart pounding.
Hating my lack of control.
I reach in the darkness, sobbing.
Please, let there be someone.
Nothing.
Like always, I am alone.
My body shakes, quivers.
Fear enshrouds like a veil.
Prayers said in desperation and truth.
(No darkness can snuff a candle)
Tears run, body goes cold.
Sleep banished from thought.
Longing for someone to hold me.
Whisper sweet nothings in reassurance.
Have a shoulder to wipe my tears on.
Like always, I am alone.
Was the room always this cold?
Were my thoughts always this morbid?
How do I control the terror inside?
The loneliness I feel isn't physical.
It's mental.
It's emotionally-tied.
It's spiritual.
It's unabridged; it's everything.
Waves of despair flow.
I don't know how to escape
This nightmare.

My hair falls across my face. If it wasn't shining in the sunlight, I probably wouldn't be able to see through it. The solidity of the locks seems to change with the light. Falling down, twisting together, curling as one. Yet there are different groups and the change from one to the other is clearly marked by unseen factors. Watch them twist in the opposite way, watch them curl out of form of other groups. Why do they do this? Are they wrong? Perhaps the opposition is necessary. Who am I to yell and complain with a lack of understanding? I can see what I see through.

Ahem. We need to talk.
The most dreaded phrase in all of America.
What must we discuss?
Marriage
Divorce
Cheating
My hair
Your side girlfriend
Breaking up
Going on a date
Changing some dumb plan
What? What? What?
We have an apparent lack of communication
A series of misunderstandings
Should I be alarmed or overjoyed?
Neutral or making plans
For this apparent dialogue?
I didn't know how little I knew you until
You said,
"We need to talk."

I didn't think you'd show up.
I hoped, desperately hoped that you would.
Of course I wanted it to work out!
But your track record hasn't been stellar.
I knew the likelihood would be small.
How do I trust you to do the right thing
Without getting my hopes up?
I want to believe in you
But I fear it'll break my heart.
Please, show up
End all of this grief with your deeds.
If you do, I'll forgive and forget every transgression.
If you don't, I'll have new pain and hurt to conquer.
This is my side.
What is yours?

What am I thinking about?
My mind's a bit of a muddle.
In the midst of all the confusion
I doubt you could find a filing cabinet
(Much less one organized)
You keep asking.
Persistent
Constant
Nagging
Uhm, uhm
Pick up a random paper
Read it slowly
Yeah, this sounds kind of not like a lie
So I'll say, "I was thinking about... this."

Poetry: Truth in Fiction

How much truth is in a story
When it concerns naught
But fantasy?

It's a way to vent
Expressing ideas
Artistic talent

The situations?
Do not apply
To individual life
To the people known

Yet

Reading those words
Hearing those thoughts

The emotion is very real
Such a strong reaction
Cannot be faked

(I read
My first reaction?
You lied of your past
Who are you really?
Is this a story?
Or truth?
Shocked
I have to recall
You aren't a liar)

What tragedy
Faces your young heart
To make a reader cry so?
What glory
Have you witnessed
To be full of such hope?

No, the situation is fiction
But how much truth lies
Behind those simple
Words?

I simply do not know.

Poetry: Petitions of Invitation

When I was just a girl
Young and small
Looking frail
Feeling 11 feet tall
The only things that mattered
Were what I could see

I'd ask my father
For some advice
A favor
A deed
And if I was precious enough
If I could smile just right
If I created a pleasant mood
He'd agree

Now I am older
Still young and small
Roughened at the edges
Knowing I'm not tall
The things that truly matter
Are still what I can see

Put away your childish ways
Stop dancing your childhood dance
Don't twirl like a girl
Don't dumb down your words
Don't look like a fool
For the attention of things

If I ask my daddy
For some advice
A favor
A deed
No longer do I make it so
In the way I plead

Raise the question
(As often as is right)
No nagging
No begging
No trying to get on his good side
Leaving the answer
Entirely in his hands

Rarely do I get as I wish
That is the fate I await
(For the material desires
Belong to the child
But the patience to receive them
To the man)

I ask him again tonight,
"Will you do what I request?"
I suspect the answer will remain the same
As it has for the last year
Still
He decides anew
The choice is still his

My task
Is naught but
Ask

(Perhaps he'll realize
It's not a question of curiosity)