cloaked in half truths
clinging to fear and rage
the adults turned
scattered to earth’s farthest corners
from great distance
Left behind on wide open plains
Winter’s abandoned children faced hard choices
no choice, really
broken hearts everywhere
anger on all sides
the worst within
lightness of spirit
darkness of origin
impossible new old selves
disinclined to hide
glide down, through, then off of hatred
in the air
like a slide
sit with the
stay with abandoned
cry with the
accept the cracks
accept the rage that moves through you
accept this new state of orphanhood, this too-soon adulthood
like you watched your cousins do
rising from ashes
more amazing than ever
beautiful, wise, kinder, gentler, made strong
on winter’s harsh plane
With grownups fled
your first instincts were to rush to fix things,
build walls out of hatred, and/or
To look away, like the adults did.
But utterly surrounded by orphans,
new options arrived
the trees, the stars, all the dead children
Not yet child. Be still.
First relax, be held.
Be held by your own arms: now your own mother/father.
Be held by the family that remains:
mother universe, father time, mother nature, other orphans.
Stay with it. Name it. Don’t rush.
Grieve. Rage. Mourn. Collapse.
Give in to the urge to play when you’re ready.
Play as if Life herself depended on it.
Be amazed: they are enough
More amazed: you are enough
gather internal strength this winter
until you find slivers of uncertainty within certainty
greater truths around untruths
seeds for doing better:
lightly held connection
a secret love of winter, even as we curse it, shovel it
jump up and down
until you remember, feel
how you yourself moved
your anger through you
in through your head
out your now-warm feet
with tiny, almost invisible seeds
they themselves can’t clearly see
Winter’s badass children will rebuild themselves until they’re laughing
until we’re all laughing
who better to start a sacred choir of laughter
than Winter’s abandoned children
united as friends
content with who they are
held within loss
jumping up and down
kickstarting lost humanity
powered from within?
we are Winter’s badass orphans
with broken, lost selves
bare and unhidden
yet remarkably held
adults may never understand our silly
they forgot the power of silly
and couldn’t fully pull content from within discontent
or find mystery and wonder within ruin
bitches, we can
we can Scooby Fucking Doo this
walls we once cursed, like our parents,
we taught ourselves to cherish
those walls meant becoming our own elders
forming more open, silly, bleeding hearts within ourselves
broken hearts, perfect, for turning walls into playgrounds
the same walls that made enemies of our too distant parents
are making orphans
better community members
crafters, builders, farmers
of us all
watch us demonstrate
Dear, dear, fucking grownups
Good God it’s hard to love you some days
but we do
we love you
we honor you
by making different choices than you did
happy humans don’t appear magically come springtime
not yet they don’t
peace for us means slowing down together
crafting new selves
from raw red earth, rubble, spit, and bubble gum
we know we need every unique perspective
to survive, thrive
You forgot that your own children are abandoned behind your walls.
Orphaning you within.
Welcome to our world, orphan.
Running away is not an option here.
Walls and distance and distraction don’t work here.
Here we face the music together, awkwardly re-learn to dance, or we die trying.
The empty world you left us is cold, shattered.
Walls in all directions we turn.
Can’t you hear us screaming outside your fortresses?
Open your eyes. We’re not monsters, dear hearts. We’re all just abandoned children.
We will see this for you if you can’t through your self-blinded eyes.
We pulled ourselves through the harshest winter
hand in hand
with those we love
those you failed to teach us to hate
we have become our own elders
your generation will be the last to die
trying to heal across great distances
behind walls, blind
stuck, drowning in smelly, stagnant rage
ours will be the last one abandoned
to die alone in the street
this shit stops with us
will watch us work with neighbors
to tear down old walls
will help us plant vegetables
in abandoned lots
fruit on rooftops
herbs in pots
will hear us creating art, laughing
with those we were taught to hate
will grow up laughing and crying together
to bring their fears out in the open
in rubble-magic playgrounds
emerging as springtime’s clowns.
Until this rings true for all our children
this rings hollow for all our children.
This is our truth. We own it. We don’t look away.
We are offering our lives to bring this through.
Welcome the clowns.
Weaving wounds together
love and humor
stayed-with grief, more gratitude
twinkles in their eyes
curious flexible fingers and souls
finding and using wordless threads—
goose bumps, belly laughs, cheek-tears, skipping, pee-inducing giggles, and awe—
pulling wounded worlds back together
bowing deeper silly bows
mourning wide open, visible and exposed
allowing the dead