A word loaded with so much weight.
The monster in the room.
It rolls through my fingertips
And plunks itself on the page.
Asking to be seen.
As I lean into it,
I wonder what it's thunderous vibrations feel like...in my body.....in the bodies of all beings who bear its burden.
So, I sit with it.
Let it land in me.
A slow, dull pain
That permeates the pelvis,
And then threatens to break it in two.
The feeling of uprootedness
That seems to have no beginning
And no end.
The bright lights of possibility
That flicker in the heart space
Are reduced to smoky embers,
The rib cage caving in,
Creaking beneath the pressure of a thousand raging seas.
The hands tense up
Trying to grasp for some sense of safety.
The toes fidget.
Fight or flight?
But the legs, like concrete, remain here.
Stuck in generations of misunderstanding.
The mind dances between anger, sadness, and hopelessness, having no place to land.
A fog rolls in.
Body wanting to numb,
To cloud the hard truths.
But oppression demands to be seen.
In all its ugliness.
Oppression knows that it cannot be transformed until we feel it, taste it, sense it.
Oppression is tired.
Burnt out to the bone.
It needs our help.
Oppression is ready to pass on.