Loving terrorists to disconnection

The fascists in the FBI wants to say trans people are domestic terrorists

            And yeah, you could say settler colonial patriarchy is like cockroaches,

            but I don’t hate cockroaches THAT much

            They remind us that our separation from earth is a tidy illusion

That we (and our children) still bear the consequences for all the earthling homes we destroy

for a semblance of power over ours

No, colonial patriarchy is more like laughing gas –

At first, to the one who inhales, maybe it’s a giddy, power buzz,

But when it’s the air we’re breathing,

we all get balance problems, dizziness, consciousness says goodbye,

            Eventually death

            for all who breathe.

So yeah, call me a terrorist to fear for growing a love garden.

Plants are still the only way we know to make oxygen.

We’re going to keep oxygenating this culture

            and the life that’s growing is the kind of laughing that doesn’t stop

                        until (or through) crying, and grieving, and protecting and expanding, delighting, and loving

Trans people make a kind of freedom

            you can only know through giving

            every flower, microbe, and fluttering fern

                        within you a chance

            wear those bootyful pants,

            set off your sparkling eyes with some glitter and galactic gifts

            let those heels and calves strut a story that’ll stupefy even the stalwart silencers

            let your body be king, be queen, be mother, be anything or everything in between

Mother earth, meaning us, all these eco-systems, all these beings, and elements,

movements toward life

toward decomposing transforming and recycling to make new life

Trans people are experts at that

            Turning away – disconnection, ridicule, fear and blame

            into towards – trying, together, tripping and catching, flipping and rhyming

            rejection with reflection, reveling in invitation

When we don’t know how to reckon with the misplaced contours

and strangely shaped ‘what for?’s

            We unweapon the binary and blithely  

            Blend up and balance this batch of confusion into

            The sweetest brightest embodiments

So along with making more oxygen, let’s keep blooming and blooming

this society into a more beautiful garden

            than we’ve ever felt