the walls are made of flowers
holding hands.
no one gets grief for holding anyone else’s hand
here
you’re allowed to feel whatever you feel
cry in any gender and still be seen as strong
we know nothing of prejudice,
capital,
or constraint
here
save historical examples
archaic relics, reminders
of who we will never become
our systems are built
on compassionate community care
like they always should have been
and everything is art
which it already was
but in this dimension
we never forget to remember
or we have time to remember
so much time won back
from the hungry
jaws
of oppression.
so much time that we sleep, we play, we run, we snack, we sometimes breakdown and
no one here has ever been murdered for sleeping,
playing
running,
buying snacks
or breaking down
or being the gender they are
or the race
meaning no one has ever been erased here
out of fear
or for any reason.
the native language of this place
is consent
and it is the language of everywhere
not just our bedrooms.
no one is the police
and no one polices their loved ones
or themselves.
and there are reparations
and there is justice that means justice
not just eliminating perceived threat
no one exists
as threat
here we deal
with our implicit biases
and our bullshit
and no one has ever called anyone’s truth bullshit
here
or them crazy
or too much
because
here
no one is too much
and my dad is still healthy
and whoever you call family
is
safe tonight
and every night
and my poems always get written
and your poems always get written
even if they aren’t particularly good at first utterance
and
here
I never once wrote
for the validation
only exploration
only revelation
only
for us
for me.
& 