The Beginning of the End of the Red-Tape that Binds.

As I sit here with steady streams of distraction in the foreground, my mind can’t help but to fixate on my helplessness.

How am I supposed to graduate on time when I can’t even focus on completing courses (much less a thesis)? All the red-tape is making it difficult to see any end-game.

It is like a mobius strip of red-tape, here in higher ed. It’s hard to sleep, hard to focus on anything until I find the proverbial scissors.

What do I have to do to prove that I’m worth the amount of debt I’m begging for?

*     *     *

This distraction and more cause stress and anxiety, depression and feelings of haplessness; all of which are distracting from all the grave, tragic, and violent oppression going on around me.

[Trigger Warning for the links (which is why I didn’t include more)] All of the hypocrisy, all of the violent death, all of the vicious murder. All I can focus on is the bureaucratic bullshit that I am having to deal with; with no way to speed the process, no way to accomplish my goal on my own.

It’s times like these that I feel like quitting. It’s times like these that I have to painfully face my double-consciousness. It’s times like these that I fail myself in every moment.

It’s times like these that I force myself to reach out. It’s times like these that I rely on the love and support of those who came before me and those living and active in the struggle around me.

I’d like to share a poem that gives me energy every time I read it these days.

Power

The difference between poetry and rhetoric
is being ready to kill
yourself
instead of your children.
I am trapped on a desert of raw gunshot wounds
and a dead child dragging his shattered black
face off the edge of my sleep
blood from his punctured cheeks and shoulders
is the only liquid for miles
and my stomach
churns at the imagined taste while
my mouth splits into dry lips
without loyalty or reason
thirsting for the wetness of his blood
as it sinks into the whiteness
of the desert where I am lost
without imagery or magic
trying to make power out of hatred and destruction
trying to heal my dying son with kisses
only the sun will bleach his bones quicker.
A policeman who shot down a ten year old in Queens
stood over the boy with his cop shoes in childish blood
and a voice said “Die you little motherfucker” and
there are tapes to prove it. At his trial
this policeman said in his own defense
“I didn’t notice the size nor nothing else
only the color”. And
there are tapes to prove that, too.
Today that 37 year old white man
with 13 years of police forcing
was set free
by eleven white men who said they were satisfied
justice had been done
and one Black Woman who said
“They convinced me” meaning
they had dragged her 4’10” black Woman’s frame
over the hot coals
of four centuries of white male approval
until she let go
the first real power she ever had
and lined her own womb with cement
to make a graveyard for our children.
I have not been able to touch the destruction
within me.
But unless I learn to use
the difference between poetry and rhetoric
my power too will run corrupt as poisonous mold
or lie limp and useless as an unconnected wire
and one day I will take my teenaged plug
and connect it to the nearest socket
raping an 85 year old white woman
who is somebody’s mother
and as I beat her senseless and set a torch to her bed
a greek chorus will be singing in 3/4 time
“Poor thing. She never hurt a soul. What beasts they are.

-Audre Lorde

I have to acknowledge the distractions in order to be able to quiet them. There is movement going on around me. This movement needs as many people as possible to keep life within it. I cannot continue to allow these distractions to be on the foreground while people continue to risk their lives for this movement. I hope this resonates with with someone reading.

Until Next Time,

-D

Audre's sentiment really spoke to me today, so I had to leave this with you upon finding it beautifully packaged like this on the web!

Audre’s sentiment really spoke to me today, so I had to leave this with you upon finding it beautifully packaged like this on the web!

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About thepsych1

I am a natural progression. As I learn and grow, so does this blog as a reflection of myself. Poetry Art Videos Critique Let's collaborate. Bring your friends.
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One Response to The Beginning of the End of the Red-Tape that Binds.

  1. daseinosaur says:

    Reblogged this on daseinosaur.

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