Being a woman in relationships with men

And not the monogamous-y kinds of relationships. What else is there to experience? Is it okay to do this or am I “messing with his emotions”? Am I even allowed to not tie myself down to his emotions? Or if he retaliates against me is it also my fault for not giving him what he wanted? Am I being reckless? And what if I am, am I allowed? Just some questions running through my mind these days..

Thanks, RDL for the share:

And there’s this:

A woman is not a potted plant
her roots bound
to the confines
of her house

a woman is not
a potted plant
her leaves trimmed
to the contours
of her sex

a woman is not
a potted plant
her branches
espaliered
against the fences
of her race
her country
her mother
her man
her trained blossom
turning this way
and
that
to follow
the sun
of whoever feeds
and waters
her

a woman
is wilderness
unbounded
holding the future
between each breath
walking the earth
only because
she is free
and not creeper vine
or tree

Nor even honeysuckle
or bee.

~Alice Walker

Losing and Losing

I wrote this poem a couple of years back when I was going through a period of tremendous loss. 2011 was an extremely contradictory year in my life. When I wrote this I was in a process (long process) of ending a romantic relationship with someone that was with me through my transformation to becoming a revolutionary. Although politically we were compatible, that was about the only way we were. It was loss, but with loss we also gained our freedom, I gained my self respect and knew if I wanted to have the kind of relationship I did I would have to let this one go. Loss, and hope. At the same time I found out I was pregnant and had an abortion. I couldn’t go through it with him but a really great friend to me at the time was by my side through the whole thing. More loss, and friendship. That year I had lost several friends from my past. Yet I believe that their journey is not over. They have touched all of us who are still here, and we carry their life through us, taking it with us on our own journeys. They are part of us.

it’s painful. so painful to think
i won’t know you like this anymore.
to get rid of the only thing living between us,
is also killing a part of myself.

i’m not asking anything of you.
i feel you’ve done all you could do.
and now i am having to do my part to finish up everything that i can.

I was daydreaming earlier today
of going up really high and flying away.
taking her with me away from this place
but instead she’ll be leaving alone.

I dreamt of her once in our bed.
she had a beautiful smile and a head full of hair
and we loved her so much,
but i’ll never get to meet her because nothing is right about right now.

it’s hard to lose so many people at once
like you told me when it rains it pours.
but it feels like my whole life i’ve been trying to keep people from going away
and leaving me behind.

One day I will grow wings and fly
and i’ll carry myself up from this.
but for now i am stuck here alone in this cold bed,
with cold tears to remind me i’m alive.

i used to fight for our love and defend it.
i told them it was revolutionary.
but even revolutions don’t always end in cheers,
like the song,
you walked away.

To all those I’ve lost to death,
at least now i know that you are at rest.
and i don’t believe in another world other than this one,
but i believe your a part of it now.

it’s hard to lose so many people at once
i’ve grasped at the tail ends of them all
and you and i have come all this way,
but i can take it from here, i’ll hold my head tall
because i will be standing right here.

Better This World

No Struggle, No Progress
Frederick Douglas, 1857

The whole history of progress of human liberty
Shows that all concessions
Yet made to her august claims
Have been born of earnest struggle.
If there is no struggle
There is no progress.

Those who profess to favor freedom,
And yet deprecate agitation,
Are men [and women] who want crops
Without plowing up the ground,
They want rain
Without thunder and lightning.
They want the ocean
Without the awful roar of its waters.
This struggle may be a moral one;
Or it may be a physical one;
Or it may be both moral and physical;
But it must be a struggle.
Power concedes nothing without a demand.
It never did, and it never will.
Find out just what any people
Will quietly submit to
And you have found the exact measure
Of injustice and wrong
Which will be imposed upon them,
And these will continue till they are resisted. . .
The limits. . . are prescribed
By the endurance
Of those whom. . [are] oppress[ed].

Men [and Women] may not get all they pay for
in this world, but they pay for all they get.
If we ever get free
from the oppressions and wrong heaped on us,
we must pay for their removal.
We must do this
by labor,
by suffering,
by sacrifice,
and if needs be

by our lives and the lives of others

blue bird

A caged bird, beautiful eyes, spirit so big for its little bird body. He should’ve been a lion or a cheetah with his heart so big. But his spirit was free, so the bird was he.

But locked behind bars his spirit was locked down. He learned knew ways while caged.

Until the day they set him free, as he flew away he realized they tied his leg to a string, he wouldn’t be flying too far away this time.

Back to the same ol life he left behind. But his new content didn’t fit this old form. He felt crammed into a small box, he needed so much more.

For when this happened was when he met me. Even I couldn’t fit into his small box with him and he wanted more than what we could have here. He wanted to have me but his life wasn’t what he wanted so feeling restless he left me. Emotionally first, then physically.

And then he left us all. But he had to. No one could blame him. His spirit so free, caged for so long, he flew away.

Beautiful bird, with a beautiful soul. Singing songs of a caged bird set free.

Untitled by Dirt Road Revolutionary

Untitled, is a poem written by a badass militant revolutionary felon. He wrote this while incarcerated.

i dream of bright blue skies like bright blue eyes,
dabbed with weightless cottonpuff sketchpads for the imagination,
of rolling green mattresses that make you
itch all over when you lie on them just so you know
they weren’t made for you.
it’s important to know none of it
was made for you

or cosmic dreams of
black construction paper flecked with countless glittering points,
shimmering blue and white and red so faintly
that you probably aren’t seeing them properly.
but if you stare deeply into the blackness,

through it,
all the way to the end of it,
don’t worry because
as that overwhelming sense of smallness washes over you,
insignificance envelopes you in its inescapable embrace.

let your breath escape
with a heaviness that
carries the weight of your burdens
because if you don’t matter,
none of it matters,
everything will be okay.
no matter what.

those dreams bear the fruit of Christmas-morning happiness.
dreams of undulating light gently lapping at wet toes,
held in earnest conversation with the wind in the trees.
it’s very good conversation because the wind never shouts.
it just murmurs its points quietly and moves on.

soon enough, dawn-crack morning light
will burn up these gossamer dreams.
i’ll be able to wake up to her bright blue eyes,
the bright blue skies, and philosophizing trees,
with these flat grey walls
fading away instead.