Laundry

The laundry never seems to get folded in this place,
Wrinkles are the sworn enemy,
Yet, it never seems to be enough to motivate anyone to do anything about it.
Instead it sits there,
In a looming pile of wrinkles and mildew,
rotting away as it is believed that their lives are too busy.
Too consumed, too involved
to simply just fold it.

The Walls Come Crumbling Down

Hail to the King and Queen! We yell with a type of blind fervor that we hate.
Heralds of the perfect picture of domesticity,
Continuing the path wrought with children and picket fences,
We fought long and hard for that gilded road covered in perfection.

But we can see the foundation cracking,
And a different type of light is coming through.

I cannot deny that when I heard the news,
A slightly spiteful smile escaped from my face.
I used to think I was to be the Queen.
But I escaped that fate,
Taking up my sword and fighting more courageous battles.
The things I have seen and the adventures I have had are gold themselves,
Now, I can hardly imagine a life with you, your Majesty, possessing me.

I pity the King and Queen,
as their faces turn to ash and the walls of their fortress come crumbling down.
Their faces distort in anger as all they thought was secure is shaken.

We live is insecure times,
The concept to perfection to which you cling, is dead.

This is the community I live in

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kguzdMSFRes&feature=player_embedded

So incredibly thankful and blessed that I can say I know a community where beauty like this can be created. Super proud of you Greeley, Colorado. Not only have you changed my life, you are changing the lives of so many others.

Tread Softly

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet,

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

W.B. Yeats

The Abolition of Resentment

"I have forgotten where the hatchet is buried"

I don't even know what to say. All I know is I need to just let it go.

The Male Gaze

By Barbara Kruger

"The girl in the household is taking a lot longer to get ready, as usual." The class erupts into laughter. It's funny because it's just so typical of the old structures of ideology to assume that women take longer to get ready. It's so old fashioned, so, NOT post-modern. It's funny because we all assume we live in a much more progressive society, where men and women take just as long to get ready. It's funny because in this day and age women are not placed in that category. It's funny because we have triumphed over the dusty systems of the past, we are better than that.

But yet, there is an uncomfortable undertone growing in the pit of your stomach between the giggles. A certain fear to admit that you still assume women take longer to get ready. I mean, who could blame you for that assumption? You've lived with a mother at one point in time. She would always take years to primp herself to go out. Your girlfriend has to start getting for your date 2 hours in advanced because it takes her that long to shave her legs perfectly. And you realize, you are only laughing at the absurdity because you have to.

Meanwhile, one of the only women in the class is laughing too. But in her stomach a ball of concern is growing too. Little do you know that its actually panic. Her heart is racing because she believes she laughed just a little too hard at that joke. She looks around with a grin plastered to her face, luckily no one seems to be making eye-contact with her at the moment. She doesn't feel too extreme. But she still has the scars from being called that one horrible word, FEMINIST. That word is painted to her like an unforgiving adulturous A. She remembers the realization that came with that word, the realization that it was just joke to them. The moment she gained the label it's like no one listened to her anymore. It became a category within itself, "Of course a woman would be a feminist. How typical." So, she stresses daily over trying to seem moderate enough for them. Don't laugh to hard when they bring up the systems of the old, you might seem too victorious. It's easy to brush off the words of an extremist. And don't remain completely silent either, then you'll just seem like a fuddy-duddy conservative, recalling the 1950s era as the golden age. So she laughs (not too loud) in hopes of pleasing all of those around her.

Things are Changing

The moments we remembered flash in light as the bulb captures and stamps it to light-sensitive paper for us.

We could cling to those mementos forever if we wanted to.

But how could you really capture the sound of your laugh ringing on my ears, the smell of the air, or the way our clothes felt on our skin?

Is it really worth it then to try to record every moemnt on a piece of paper when in the end we know it will never really be the same?

Especially when I know tomorrow these moments will be miles away from you and I.

Oh, I can feel it in my bones. Times are changing.