Day 317.

they have an army.

i have an army, too
of poets
of lovers
of humans
care and compassion emanate from their pores,
wisdom shines through their eyes.
they craft brilliant sounds
write poems.
they sit in introspection,
practicing.
we struggle
for these things we call jobs
that were meant, originally
to make it so that we were all taken care of.
we now compromise our sacred bodies
to pay rent
        (money, paper, numbers on a screen)
monthly, as though it were holy, like the moon
given
to someone who purchased a structure
most likely built by bodies like ours
brown
poor
a structure that needs repair
and sits on land
that most likely is stolen
that most likely is not rightfully theirs.

all of you, all of us
i see our hearts
when i have taken to the streets
i have felt you with me
even in futility,
in marches that show nothing but that we are here
    (we are for love)
we are together.
when i have sat
silently
noticing what comes and goes
noticing my attachments
practicing kindness, non-judgment
practicing not punishing myself
i have felt you there with me.
we are together.

i feel inside me
the wounds we lick
     (like cats)
usually alone,
sometimes in tandem with other brokenhealing hearts
in corners
head against the wall
or hair splayed across pillowcases
in the dark
fueled by cheap beer
after selling our bodies
our selves
to a machine that does not want us
unless we remain enslaved,
then shames us for being whores.

we should feel free
we should notice the moments in which we feel free
we are breathing
one big breathing
at the core of this vast everything
we are longing
we are hope
we are prayer
we touch, we lose composure
we sweat and whip our hair around on dance floors
excrete pheromones
attracting mates
inviting love
or simply praying
    (inviting love.)
remembering we are one strand in this web
we extend tentacles of compassion
octupi
occupy
we stand on ground that trembles beneath us
wise land
releasing the tension
of harm we have caused
melting glaciers push tectonic plates
rumbling
ruin
make us question "natural"
make us question human impact
make us question humans.

on this wise land, this stolen land, this suffering land
we erect tents
to have them torn down
we liberate our voices,
guttural
raw
we
repeat
repeat
repeat
heads turned slightly
so that those behind us can hear
because we are in this
together.
sometimes despite ourselves,
we care for one another.

we are still rising
after every fall
after every stumble
we arise
bloodied, scraped
wounded
healing
scarred
still breathing
still rising.

we are egypt
we are oakland
we are every Body
we are even bodies that occupy Neiman Marcus suits and corner offices
so detached from human family
that we hurt each other to fill the void
that the illness called greed
has created in us.

but money is no salve
paper is no bandage
numbers on a screen? tell me nothing about your worth
none of this is tactile
except your body
and what you do with it.

disrobe, find a mirror
take a long look
at yourself, your precious, precious body
    (whole,
           holy)
that has brought you here
standing
sitting
crouching
hurting
loving
wanting
fighting
singing
breathing
i breathing
you breathing
we breathing
one big breathing.