Broken rhythm
Hits thoughts in
Fallen poetry
With lowly rhymes
Catch-all phrases
Useless adjectives adding
Pages
To make twisted
Alliterated stages
Grasping for spindly straw lines
My fingers immerse themselves
In words
To make sentences
Like bracelet beads
Held together by a thin thread
Eyes absorb the colors
The feeling
Manifested in
The clench of the stomach with music
And sweat
With meaning
{trigger warning: childhood illness}
this whole year has brought about many hours of reflection for me and my life. one thing i’ve been thinking about a lot and trying to process is my experience as a cancer survivor. i was diagnosed with stage 4 hodgkin’s lymphoma at 16 years old (my junior year of high school). while i’m in remission now, the trauma i have tied to that experience is something that comes up again and again — especially during something as stressful as a global pandemic. the precautions i take to protect myself and others from the virus (like wearing masks, washing my hands often, disinfecting everything i come in contact with) feels eerily similar to the precautions i had to take while protecting myself from infections while being treated with chemotherapy and radiation.
i don’t talk much about my experiences, and part of the reason for that is because, well, it isn’t pretty. having cancer, being treated for it, fearing that it will come back, and having a deadly virus going around that only intensifies my anxiety isn’t something i can talk about in a few minutes or hours and be done with. i think about it all the time. and i take the pandemic very seriously mostly because of my fears.
i just wanted to let anyone who is struggling with processing or navigating this pandemic know that they are not alone, and things REALLY suck at the moment and it’s okay to acknowledge that. it’s okay to not be okay, and it’s okay to fear the uncertain future ahead of all of us. it’s okay to talk through your feelings with people you love andcare about, including yourself. this poem, ‘blacklight’, is one of my many attempts to do so. fun fact: this is a contrapuntal poem, which means that it can be read in at least two different ways 😉
~~~~~~
that moment when you look your eyes don’t adjust to the darkness
it’s just dark and thick wet black
and i tell everyone i know it’s just my shadow it’s just the back of the throat, i say
and they believe me and no one asks further questions
but i’ve been trying to figure out, like,
how do i come to terms with the tumors growing in my body?
how long have they been there?
was there a such thing as light before the universe?
did darkness come from a wounded womb?
has anyone found its keyholed belly?
Is the name you give to the tapeworm
Nibbling away
Keeping your stomach empty
Something that to which your brain
Can’t help but wander
It made someone lace opioids
Into their blood vessels
So that their tangled veins force them to sleep
For their mind to go to quiet
Places
That mingle
Regret with dreams.
as my first blog post, i just wanted to say hi. i’m excited to see what i’ll do here. while we’re all tryna navigate this chaotic world, i want this to be a place for me — and hopefully, you reading this — to breathe. i was looking at the first couple lines of this poem on an old google doc, and thought i’d revisit it as a retrospective of my feelings about passion. sometimes, i feel so low that it’s hard for me to feel passionate about the things i know i want to accomplish in my life… and this year hasn’t been very helpful in picking up my mood. as a black trans person, i can say from first-hand experience that the world isn’t always so kind. but, there are moments (like, this poem i’m sharing) where i am able to say, “here i am. and that’s enough.” so, i hope you like it, and, welcome to my blog.
~~~~~~
sometimes, i forget my body can take these torches
of veins and light these pipelines of blood.
sometimes, i forget that a chest of living wishes
finds home under my tongue
and that memories can dissolve into me like sugar there.
sometimes, i forget that my organs are not made
of drying sand or the wind of a thousand last breaths,
but of flesh: warm, bare, and waiting
for me to find the things that make me believe
i am living.
One of my favorite parts of these interviews is learning about whole subparts of artistic industries that I had no idea about. Continuing on our conversation from last week, BCN senior and Creative Writing minor Selene Yang taught me about the strange world of “Writing Twitter.”
On Monday, I had the joy of talking with Selene Yang, a senior majoring in Biopsychology, Cognition, and Neuroscience with a minor in Creative Writing. It was one of those long conversations where we got carried away and explored some unexpected topics, so I’m splitting this interview up into two parts. This week is about Selene and her personal journey with creative writing. Next week, we discuss “Writing Twitter.” Stay tuned.
