Crafty Child

Bright-eyed young girl,
Curious and crafty,
Let’s start a project and learn to crochet.

Tiring quickly,
She abandoned the lesson.
She couldn’t see past the first stitch-
Obsessed with chains, with growing taller,
The neverending line of connection
So easily unfurled.

Chains, chains, chains.
Chains everywhere and every day.
Quickly and carefully created by this crafty girl
And unraveled even faster,
The impermanence of childhood
Displayed through her repetitive ritual.

She lost interest as quickly
As any other once-inspired child,
And many years without crocheted chains passed
Before a spark of inspiration woke her from her daze.

Timid hands picked up threadbare yarn, dusted with age.
Fingers moved as if possessed,
Creating chains came so easily
And her inner child was elated by the familiarity
Of her once daily routine.

The desire to unwind, to unfurl
Pulled so strong within her,
But the necessity
To create, to give life, to build something that matters
Overcame all else.

She kept making chains.
She made chains and then kept working.
She kept building on the foundation
To create something strong
Something useful
Something beautiful for herself.
For herself, she kept creating.

Fighting For Freedom

Age-old stories of coming to America

With nothing but minuscule amounts of money

To determine worth

And sell your soul.

How can you free yourself

From societal binds and pressures

Without first succumbing to them?

Monopolize your time

Build properties on your day to day life

And watch them come tumbling down

With every step forward that you make.

Has the patriarchy crushed you?

What about all the world’s woes?

When are we free

If we have done nothing to fight?

Lace your shoes tight

And fight with your sole-

Getting closer to your goal

Step by step.

 

Getting Help

I want to tell you

How I’m feeling

But don’t want dependence

To weigh you down.

 

I want you to see

That I’m hurting.

It should be obvious

Without words.

 

I want to know

Why nobody is around

When I’m hurting the most

But I don’t want an audience

For my tears.

 

I want to be heard

But can’t help

Soldiering on in silence.

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