te amo.
you are special you are precious
you have measure.
te apoyo.
you are sheltered you’re protected
without measure.
te agarro.
you’ll be mended, renovated
in full measure
te aseguro.
you are treasured you are cherished
beyond measure
te acompaño,
te acojo,
te anhelo,
me haces tanta falta.
maybe i’ll never know
what it’s like to hold your hand on our way to class in the morning–
to say good-bye and see you tonight? and part ways before Evans,
but sneak a last glimpse of you over my shoulder across Memorial Glade.
maybe i’ll never know
what it’s like when both our addresses list the same city, when
you’re just a twenty-minute walk, or maybe
a ten-minute drive, or maybe
just a handful of blocks away, or some
similar geographical description…
maybe i’ll never know
what it’s like to love a man
just as entwined with a city full of my years loving,
with storied paths and storied pasts that
interweave and intersect and interplay with mine
maybe i’ll never know
what you’re like as a quotidian pedestrian of my life,
but maybe then i never want to know:
maybe then i’ll never ever know
what it’s like to assume you’ll be over later
or that no worries–we’ll have time this weekend, of course
or obviously you should’ve known
i’d want to see you during the break in my day where are you—
maybe then i’ll never know
anything except that you love me
` strong and still and ever
maybe then i’ll never know
anything except that you want me
` now and then and ever
maybe then, i’ll never know
anything–except that you are for me
` and your heart will hold me forever
but i never was a local soul.
and again, i am alone–
but i am never
alone.
just as you are never asleep or away or not
thinking about me, so i am never
gone from your heart.
just as you are never not in love with me or
giving up on me, so i am never
dejada por ti.
and though as yet the ink isn’t pricked in my skin, Daddy
Father, Abba, Counselor, Healer, i know
you have tattooed it on my soul–
you have inscribed it in your word–
you have buried it deep, deep in my world in my all
so the roots of your truth would be long, long and strong:
so the lies that arise would be strangled, starve and die;
so my disquiet demons se dejarían.
(04 October 2012)
i am in
love with words, and
i might be in
love with you–
can i say that? is it true?
there is a
heart in red, above
words you’ve said
about
me.
i’m not used to this:
to knowing you adore
me, and
accepting adoration. i
remember back in Dragon days,
he would tell me i was
precious,
but when he broke us he broke off
my floundering self-worth, asea.
i am in
love with words, and
there is a
heart in red
on your words.
i’m reading about myself:
these words are for the world so
you kept them specifically grey–
hazy like the fog of our days–
but to my heart,
they sparkle.
they shine.
i am in
love with words, and
there is a
heart in red, to say i–
i like your words.
they
sit in my soul, and
weave through its song:
i delight and i wonder in you.
let me be clear, though,
as the shore was that day:
“it’s like”? i do.
because you
are why i
like you, and
you
are why
i love you.
Since writing this post about The Kissing Sailor, its reach has completely exceeded all my expectations, and has generated more discussion on my blog than ever before. As I read the comments though, I come across a couple of misunderstandings, and though many excellent people have responded with clarification, I see the same misconceptions popping up again and again.
Also, many seem to be confused as to what is meant by the term ‘rape culture’. Our living in a rape culture doesn’t mean that everyone thinks rape is fantastic. What it does mean is a culture where rape and other forms of sexual violence are normalised, to be expected. It’s a culture where attitudes towards women’s bodies and attitudes towards perpetrators combine to tolerate and condone sexual violence, even while we pay lip service to the monstrosity of rape. It’s a culture where victims are criticised for their choice of clothing, their behaviour, and their sexual freedom, as though they are partly to blame for their fate. It’s a culture where women’s bodies are public property; they undergo scrutiny in the media, and weight gain in female celebrities like Christina Aguilera or Lady Gaga seems like a justification to hurl abuse at them. And the fact that Greta’s comments were given no attention in the news articles is certainly a manifestation of rape culture, contributing to and reflecting it. ———————————————————————————- I’m sorry that the term ‘rape culture’ makes people uncomfortable. But perhaps it’s time we stopped being comfortable. After all, it is when we start to acknowledge that society isn’t as perfect as we thought it was, that progress can be made.
i
love
you.
it’s true, it’s true,
it burns, it churns,
it yearns to cry itself through.
how true? how true–
how vast how much
how enough is enough to tell you?
so true–it’s so true,
so deep abiding real
so strongly fights silencing, too.
ay, alas, though, ’tis true
i doubt in its reach
i wish i had more to send you.
and this truth, fresh & new,
will it ever grow old?
will it one day be vain ‘tween us two?
can i give you this truth?
can i live it as proof?
can i hope my mere words your soul even soothe?
“i love
you”– it’s true, but
not enough to say it yet, though i
want to, instead of “goodbye,” or
“good night”
i just hope you can hear when i said,
“take care of yourself”
last night
behind those words i planted these:
“i love you i
support you and
i will listen to your pouring heartaches and
i will sit with your panging silences and
i will give you the most of the best that i can.
and i choose
to love the ones you too love, and to
catch what your heart cannot hold, and to
carry it: my basketball hands to relieve your
slipped-vertebrae life-burdened back– my knees
are no strangers to gravity’s grasp but i will sink
into unvacuumed carpet to uplift your heartache in prayer
to the best healer i’ve ever ever known.
and i sing
for your joys and your sorrows i sing
words of comfort and power i sing
through the bridge between your soul and mine, i will
sing.
and i wish
we weren’t four hundred miles far apart.”
It's nearing the end of summer, I've had a relaxing couple of days at SoCal, and there are a ton of things that I want to write about.
I'll get around to it - these are some topics I had in mind: internship, summer, Twitter, business classes (Re: Ask Me Anything questions). In the meantime, I'll share a short post on something I've been doing most of summer - hitting the gym and playing basketball.
This post is inspired by my personal experiences in basketball alongside my dad, and then constantly reinforced by a number of experiences and coaches.
In 8th grade, after one of my most memorable basketball seasons with my team, I decided to focus only on basketball, determined to play basketball in high school. This was when I began to hit the gym every day, focusing on different skills and working to improve every day.
This post is in part inspired by Timothy Dalrymple's piece, "Jeremy Lin and the Soft Bigotry of Low Expectations."
Jeremy Lin has had an amazing past few performances for the Knicks. In the past four games, he's seen 36+ minutes of play, 23+ PPG, and 7+ rebounds per game. The numbers are astonishing for a rookie, especially one who went undrafted in 2010.
In pursuit of gender equality
In search of edible inspiration
...and maybe arc length, but who wants to deal with that?
CCF's leadership website
"You won’t change society by violent revolution or gradual reform. To change society you must tell a different story. You must proclaim a new narrative.” (Ivan Illich)
Playing with knots connecting me to the world
from the place where my heart is home.
A-S-K away!
A time-ticking countdown of 1000 awesome things by Neil Pasricha
What is Jesus and Dance.
How do you measure a year in a life?
Against the Privatization of Education and Everything Else
