Turning In, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Turning In

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

 

 

At night, when our bodies

Begin to slow down, and our eyelids

Become heavy, we turn in,

And our attention

Recedes from the senses,

And we move into ourselves and dream.

And we all know dreaming

Is just the soul saying what it wanted

During the day but couldn’t,

And as we are drawn inwards,

And our breathing drifts like it was meant to,

And we rescind control over our bodies,

And our lips part and our palms open,

And our arms go this way and that,

We begin catching z’s—the buzz

Of fluorescent lights becomes the buzz of bees

Making honey out of our disappointments,

The hum of the fan of our laptops

Becomes the hush of owl’s wings,

And we yield like this every day–

Every day we relinquish the tenuous hold

We have on our lives and surrender

To the darkness living within us—

The selfsame darkness that holds the voice of desire–

Speaking like a lighthouse to approaching ships,

Speaking like the hummingbird daring us

To try and follow where it goes,

Speaking like moonlight on the river,

Speaking like our soul bowing down before us

Aching for us to listen.

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 




All donations go towards food and medical expenses.  Thank you for your support. <3

The Way, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

The Way

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

The seed,

The blossom,

The egg,

The wings,

The chrysalis,

The storm,

The spring,

The hands,

The voice,

The heart,

Covers and blankets,

Grief and rage,

The mind,

The memory,

The questions,

Faith and darkness,

Stories and galaxies,

The way and years,

Everything loosens

And gives way

To unfolding.

 

 

 

 


 

 



Donations go to food and medical expenses.  <3


TransHaiku (Transgender-Inspired Haiku) by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Some TransHaiku

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

 

Look in the mirror,

The self you’ve always wanted,

The rebirth is now.

 

*

 

What is in my pants?

The question so many ask.

Revealing their fear.

 

*

 

As I shave my breasts

Making them smooth as lilies,

I adore myself.

 

*

 

Walking through the spring,

Flowers and buds are in bloom,

This I understand.

 

*

 

Swallowing the pills,

The moonlight of estrogen,

Supporting my truth.

 

*

 

I am the spring,

A revelation of flowers,

A transgender bloom.

 

 

 

 


 

 

 


All donations go towards buying groceries and medicine.


The Road by Jennifer Angelina Petro

The Road

by

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

 

 

Someone else made this road.

I am not a trailblazer.

This road was made and walked

By many others before me.

The end could be a dead end,

It could be a cliff, a lake, a swamp,

It could be a forest, it might open

Into an emerald city or a wheat field.

The only certainty is death

Waiting at the doorstep

Of the end—everybody knows that.

Sometimes I close my eyes as I walk

Both by choice and because I am afraid to see

Where I am going.  Sometimes

I break into a run, sometimes it is everything

I can do to keep moving, other times

I amble around like a lost bear, and other times—

More often in years past—I dance,

And when I am fully awake

I see just how many people have carried me a spell.

Most of the time I am looking at the ground.

Yes, stop and smell the roses and honeysuckle,

Admire the weeping cherry, and the sunflowers, I know.

I do my best.  And even though I do not see

Where this road leads someone made it,

Someone else walked it.  It may

Very well end in a ruinous cavern

Or a dark alley strewn with bottles and glass.

It may also lead home.


 

 

 

All donations go to my medical expenses and groceries.

 

 


 


Untitled by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Untitled

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

Lightening does not reveal the way.

Thunder illumines the silence that is.

When it’s all said and done

Silence will be all that’s left

Standing in the middle of the room,

Touching everything,

Touching nothing.

 

 


 

Please help me with medical bills and buying food. Thank you <3

 

 


Untitled by Jennifer Angelina Petro

I do not see the light.

I do not feel the warmth of love.

The emptiness that I am deafens my days.

Silence turns into auditory hallucinations.

I stand motionless

For long moments, every day, unable to move,

Think, or breathe.  Impossible

As I have made my life

I am here existing in the nothingness

Still hoping—still hoping for light.

 

 

 

 

 


Any help for me to buy food or pay for medical expenses is deeply needed and appreciated.


Morning Walk, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Morning Walk

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

On my morning walk to try and subdue

My panic attacks I saw a rusty nail,

A piece of glass, and a rusty piece of broken chain.

I understand the rusty nail and shard of glass,

And may the broken piece of chain

Mean what I hope it means.

 

 

 


 

 


All donations go towards my mounting medical bills.  Thank you.


Borderline, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Borderline

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

 

I live on the borderline.

I live on the edges of your awareness

And of my own.  I survive

Hidden in plain sight, and can,

Without knowing it has happened,

Shimmer in and out of two worlds;

I drift into little sleeps of the mind,

Little trances of sunlit memories,

Right as we are speaking and you

Would never know, and sometimes

The intensity of what I feel

When I am alone—

The brilliance of the darkness,

The keenness of the pain,

Bloom into a way of being

That says: “Death, come to me,

I cannot bear this anymore.”  And then I do—

I bear it some more, and somehow I breathe,

Find a pulse, and where my feet are standing,

And rise, slipping into the present moment,

And into my body, and into you,

And I wonder where I have been

For so long.

 

 

 


 

 

 




Donations go towards medical bills, rent, food…

Hidden Heritages, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Hidden Heritages

A poem celebrating being trans

inspired by attending a workshop with Starhawk

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

 

In the art of ritual

common, everyday things

take on new meaning.

The tree roots snaking

above the ground can

symbolize emergence

as well as determination

of will; the padlock pressed

into the grass by the grave

can mean secrets protected

forever; the strategically timed

coffee break which lets you

step into the sun, or the stone

you place in the center

of the meeting room table

while no one is looking

can both represent your ability

to live in truth—the solid, bed-rock

of truth, and both seamlessly blend

the magical with the logistical;

words and gestures translate intentions

and speak hidden heritages

between people not sharing a bloodline;

your every move can bind or loosen spirits;

every political action taken for good

and for the sake of children

will always be the highest form

of ritual; and this body—

this transformation of the mundane

feminine and the mundane masculine

into magical possibilities, declares

that spirit cloaked in flesh manifests

every need, every desire, every foundational

truth into being, into living wonder,

into the sacred space of what is

and what can be.

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 




Donations go to help pay medical bills, rent, and food.

Look For Signs, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Look for Signs

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

Having bipolar disorder is like…is like…..

Huh? Oh, um…ideas are coming, just wait a second,

I must write them down.  One is about air

And how we all depend on it to lift us in our lungs

And in the tires of our bikes and cars;

The other is about the wings of demons

And what would happen if the wings

Became angels and decided not to carry the demons

Around anymore.  Wait, I’ll be right there.  I just have to

Get these ideas down so I don’t forget them.

Huh? If I don’t write them down the Muse

Might get angry and start ignoring me—

Passing me by when she’s handing out gifts—

Just…..wait a second.  No…..wait.  Don’t wait.

I am not sure how long this will take—the poems will suck

No matter how they turn out anyways—all my poems

Suck.  Why wouldn’t they?  I’m a piece of shit.

Huh? Why would I say that?  Because it’s true.

It’s also true I am a visionary and these ideas

That are coming—the one about air and the one

About the wings of demons—as soon as I turn them

Into poems they will change modern poetics forever.

Yes, even though they’re shitty.  Modern poetics suck too—

And I am a modern poet.  So…wait….if you want to.

I am going to write these ideas down before we talk—

The Muse is waiting, she won’t be denied.

Huh? Where is she?  She’s here, inside, and she’s there

Behind the moon and that tree.  She’s in your eyes…

Wait….there is another idea.  This one is about

How we talk with our hands, and wait, there is another.

This one is about why we feel it in our teeth

When we crunch snow with our boots.  Oh wait,

You don’t feel it in your teeth when you walk

Over snow and it makes a crunching sound?

Told you these poems would suck.  No. No. No.

I am not saying the gifts from the Muse suck.

No. Never.  Ever.  Her ideas are always pure gold—

It’s just they distill through me and I suck

Which, of course, colors the ideas, making the poems suck

That I make out of the ideas.  You see?  No?  It’s OK.

No one does.  Just know this—air lifts you

By your lungs and by the tires of your car, demon wings

Dream of rebelling and flying off the demon’s back,

And, and, the next time you walk over fresh, wet snow,

Touch your hand to your jaw and feel the crunch

From your boots shooting right there in your teeth,

And then, once you know these things—once you believe me

That she will be upset if I do not write them down right now—

Then, maybe you will understand, maybe you will know

What it’s like to be bipolar, but probably not—by the time

You catch a glimpse of understanding I will be

Dead.  It’s inevitable, isn’t it?  I mean, I cannot go on this way

Forever.  God wants me home and demons are clawing at my heels

And the depression is crushing my bones—I feel it

In my teeth, and then, and then, and then…Huh?  Why?

Why kill myself?  The ideas the Muse will give me

Bodiless will be heaven-flavored and better than ever.  But don’t worry.

I will get them to you somehow.

Look for signs.

 

 

 

 


 

 

 




Donations go towards paying medical bills.