How do I justify my actions?
How do I speak until I’m heard.
Yes, I carry sexual shame,
birth the tales of past times and past types
through a womb woven in archetypes.
I am woman.
I bare the weight on my body,
the shame corresponding to primitive thoughts,
the resistance accumulated in intricate knots,
ridden my spine, my time, my mind,
forbidden my spine, my time, my mind
I am woman.
How do I carry such weight and reap the benefits of my work?
How do I find strength in numbers when I am only given two arms, two legs, two eyes, one spine.
Yes, I have limitations that don’t meet expectations.
I move in a manner that deems me “man-ner”
I am man.
How do I have behavior not acceptable in society?
Human behavior, rejected by humans.
I am man.
I can. I can’t. I can.
Woe is man.
Canning and Canting – the ritual of “I am”
Repress the feelings,
the fortitude of feelings that are inherently me.
The skin is me, is man. is we.
The skin is me, is woman, is z.
Yet we cease the unnorm, increase the uniform.
Can’t we see the uninformed, increase the introspection, the self reflection?
How do such “ideals” exist?
In a world where we grab and grab, push back, resist.
How can we do this?
How can we speak until we’re heard for who we are.
Human. Body. Feelings. Mind. Spine. Time and Stars.
I am man. I am woman. I am not man, I am me.
Legs closed:I am good. I am girl.
Legs open: I am bad. I am girl.
Can I exist without the perpetuation of parts?
Can’t I resist the lack of permission of phrases i learned when brain was susceptible to social satisfaction,
that time is now.
Canning and canting, the ritual of “I am”
“Be good girls.”
“Be good boys.”
“Do the best that you can.”
The mouth that spews this, is not the best, it shares the rest of what we all share.
It does not care for the rest , while it’s consciously forgetting what’s out there.
And I am doing my best to be good and to be girl,
in a world filled with this or that,
self or other
tit for tat,
when I could be doing my best to be, me and you and we.
I could be doing my best to see, I am not separate, I am not self, I am not me.
Yet I am occupied justifying my actions.
Our human behavior, rejected by humans.
Canning and canting the ritual of “I am.”
I, the Human.
– Whitney Harris