Papa, I Borrowed Your Gun

Papa, I Borrowed Your Gun

Papa, I borrowed your gun

I decided not to run

Papa, I borrowed your gun

You were right about that one

I borrowed your gun today

Some say you raised me right

Others believe I shouldn’t fight

But I borrowed your gun today

Who is the villain now?

The one who starts it, or the one who finishes?

Who is the victim now?

The one who starts, or the one who finishes?

Papa, I borrowed your gun

He tried to run

I borrowed your gun, Papa

It wasn’t for fun

I guess I could go to the police again

Straighten out my heart and head

But I borrowed papa’s gun instead

Change out the word “gun” with “power” and re-read. I know, the rhyme scheme is interfered with, but that’s not important. How does the poem resonate now?

As long as she’s a father’s daughter, like how the old fashion comfortable story above illustrates, she’s approved to have access to “power”. If she was an individual taking matters into her own clutches, she being the gun owner, she’d be simply investigated.

Finding an image for this post was eye opening. Images of women with guns were mostly models with ridiculous cleavages, a few military service women, and as for girls, daughters looked more like sons. There were no images of everyday plus size women with rifles, no women over 40 packing a Crimson Trace, no girls in glasses with braces wearing a tiara pointing a glittery but real shotgun. It’s no accident women are hardly  marketed to, or encouraged really to purchase “power”. Women with “power” is to be kept as a novelty. We’re still borrowing. And not for our sake.

IMAGE:  Eiko Ojala “Tough Talk and a Cowardly Vote on Guns.”




No Call


No Call

No Call

No Echo

Nobody signaling ‘over here’

No finger pointing

Even with whom I’m connected to,

There is no connection

I’m a fly

Wanting to join the party

I only crash them

A door to door salesman

Nobody buying

No longer charming

Been feeling really disconnected from everyone and everything, lately. An island. I’ve even put down my phone. I start to wonder how alienation will take form on my face. It’s just me and the news; what a weak combination.

So I start from the beginning. I walk. I walk among trees. I walk along the shore. I walk with the river. Mother is a good place to start to connect. I’m still at her breast. I will grow soon.

I want to touch nothing. I have nothing to say. But maybe I’ll start to wave.



The Day She Stopped Complaining

And Got to Work

He was right
If only she would stop complaining
The world revolves around him, anyway
So she can’t complain
He’s not really hurting anyone
He feels great
Isn’t that the point?
That is why she arrived,
To serve his high
Well, she stopped complaining today
And now he’s being taken away
Complaining about what is unfair and inhumane
She got to work, unafraid
Of a wrong she had to right
Too bad he couldn’t just change his mind
He had too much fear inside
This is what happens when she no longer complains
The world is a bed she makes
It’s her world to share
With men who don’t complain

The narrative of power is changing. Women are not mere sidecar riders with a role in someone else’s story. They are the story. The human race has no story without them.

Women don’t want to put their thumb on the power scale, they are removing the male entitlement thumb off. And all the Weinsteins of the world know that.

We are no longer having a one way conversation. Now everyone is powerful

IMAGE: Oren, AKA Solitarium

Holding Fast

Holding Fast

Holding Fast

I’m digging my claws into my own skin
Holding fast and staying on target
True to who I am
I’m being clingy to me
I am my own codependent
I stubbornly stand my ground
Not giving into the unfair Siren sound
I won’t dance to music I hate
I won’t be the patient one among thousands of aggressors
I am my own over baring mother
My own demanding child
I play possum to coercion 
I agree and validate others so they forget about me
I won’t bleed for someone else’s pleasure
I can’t be swayed to sit in someone else’s shade
Not today

I don’t want to do what I don’t want to do. How often do we find ourselves doing things we’d rather not be doing? Or worse, hate? The flip side being, we sacrifice doing what we truly want to do. Our attention repeatedly goes to what we don’t want, instead of what we do. Then life becomes barren and we wonder why.

I’m selfishly plowing forward with only what I want to do. Guess what? Nobody suffers for it. I’m even nicer. Appeasing others is making their relief from suffering my responsibility. I’m happy to help, but not to the point of joining in, then I’m not helping.

I see love in others where I am my true self. When you get yourself, you celebrate others instead of control them. Let’s keep going in this direction.

IMAGE: Jake Baddeley

Don’t Tax the Rich Guy

Don’t tax the rich guy
I’ll be him one day
I don’t want to pollute my future self
Don’t tax the rich guy
I won’t want it when I’m him
I believe I will be him
so I protect the delusion
of my future self
by letting the rich guy
have all the profits
They will be mine one day
Don’t tax the rich guy
I’m on your side, rich guy!
May I have a yacht ride?
I believe in you
and you will be me one day soon
You are the ideal to be preserved
so we protect you
Don’t tax the rich guy
I’m buying my ticket to be you
I don’t want to do anything
that will erode my possibilities
Eroding the rich guy world
is erosion of my ideal self

…Well, isn’t this an emotional way of helping the rich get richer…. Know anyone like this? The unspoken prosperity gospel.

IMAGE:  Mario Sanchez Nevado, Deep

Fall in Love with Me

Fall in love with me
I need the chemistry
An addict in the third degree
Fall in love with me

Taste my savory sweet
Wave my flag of defeat
You’re the fire’s heat
Taste my savory sweet

You’re the man in me
Powerful physically
Burst my energy
You’re the man in me

Fall in love with me
I need the chemistry
An addict in the third degree
Fall in love with me

Take me for a ride
I invite you inside
The worse of me supplied
Take me for a ride

Promises I’ve made
Perpetuate the shade
Your hand was better played
Promises I’ve made

Fall in love with me
I need the chemistry
An addict in the third degree
Fall in love with me

I’ve been dead before
Spilled upon the floor
Darkness’s little whore
I’ve been dead before
I’ve been dead before
I’ve been dead before

Fall in love with me
I need the chemistry
An addict in the third degree
Fall in love with me

Image: Boicu Marinela; Pen and Ink Drawing “breaking”, 2012