Walk Hard



because we must inject some humour into it, as my sis says.

Walk like a Poet

The last two weeks have been a blur. Since the elections back home, the protests, the killings. Been overwhelmed by emotions and lack of clarity. Head full. Body sore. Trying to keep it together. Life goes on here, responsibilities and commitments. To family, to friends, to the youth I work with, to the new person in my life. To myself. My birthday just passed a few days ago. But I wasn't feeling it. I drank hard, trying to escape something deep in my bones. That night I curled into myself, head buried into my hands, trying to get the breaths in and out. The tears came after, when he placed my hand on his chest and stroked my hair.

I haven't been able to think about anything but what is happening back home. My family, friends, people I don't know who are risking everything. I'm caught in some kind of cyber-purgatory, waiting to hear what's coming next. Twitter feeds, facebook, youtube, skype. Bad connection cutting conversations short. Just enough time to say I love you. I hope you are ok. I am thinking of you every single second of my day. Even when I'm not.

I got more ink on my body a few days ago. A birthday present to myself. The only two hours in 1o days where I breathed easy. His touch soothed. We talked about zombies, Motley Crue, bad sex, and the new Guillermo Tel Torro book. Wound heal wound, he said as he hugged me goodbye. I hope and pray there's resolution in your homeland so you can enjoy your life.

I hope and pray the same thing for those being beaten to death for walking the streets and speaking their hearts.

I'm in a perpetual state of mourning, while trying to find the beautiful things in between breaths. And here I am, blogging about things I haven't been able to articulate to those closest to me. I'm feeling messed up. That's what I say. It's the truth. But what about what's in my bones? What about sore limbs?

What about walking hard?

And yet I feel these words are another step closer...

so I write.

In the Bones

This year brought significant loss. I said goodbye to two important people in my life, one by choice, the other, not. Grieving loss takes time, I know this, intellectually. Emotionally though, I have blocked a lot. But that's a survival mechanism, I suppose. To process on a daily would take a toll. But not dealing at all also damages. I've been having body pains again, this time it's tensions and soreness all over my back and shoulders. I thought it was due to bad posture, heavy bags, injury from yoga. And it probably is a combination of all those things. But after a slight emotional breakdown tonight (triggered from Iranian elections, thoughts of home, looking at photos of grandma, working on a difficult poem) I realized the tightness is the grief I've been holding in. Heaviness pressing deep into my muscles, my bones.

My body always tells me so much. I just don't always listen to it.

I know it's time to actively process the grief. And there's much to write. Much to write.

Homegirl

lips crease love
spill secrets glitter
good things
the sun in your mouth sis

blood never thicker we
tread this water together
always.

The last few months have passed fast. Time has become something precious, like all the life transformations that have arisen in the mix. I'm where I want to be and still walking hard. My blistered feet find comfort in a new kind movement. Every step counts. So I'm treading this path carefully.

This year brought loss. It also brought many blessings. That's how life goes, I suppose.

I recognize beauty in a way I never had. I wrap the beautiful things tight inside the palms of my hands. Live love, love life, lift myself above all the bullshit. Patience is not something I've ever been good at. But I'm finding patience for the things that matter. I'm saying peace to anything else.

I had always chosen to walk alone, thinking I'm the only one who had my back. Now I recognize I never really did, in the way I should. But I see that now (on the good days). What I also see is those who've been walking with me this whole time. I've never been alone.

These blistered feet walk side by side those in my life who have my back in more ways than I ever recognized.

My loved ones. The beauty of your sore limbs and mine. Moving together.

I see you. I love you. I walk with you.