So last year my friend and I went to this event called “Hug a Muslim,” where they told us that “jihad” meant “struggle.” Everyone performed poems about their struggles, and it got me thinking about how struggle is basically always the subject of art, so that kind of inspired this poem. This is a bit of a departure from what I usually write--my first spoken word piece. Also the first one I've performed in front of people (which was scary, but so fun.) Comments/suggestions welcome-->its a work in progress :)

We keep crawling up these sheer walls,
Struggling for causes we hold dear—
But sometimes we get tired, just wanna
Sleep for days—sink into a haze of smoke,
make fun of everything instead of
building things up.

See, I just wanna live in color, love in color,
See through my eyes and the eyes of others—
When I rhyme it’s because of what I see,
feeling spill willful from the pen but it’s
images that make them bend
to my will, become heartbeats, the streets
of my veins, the things that sustain me.
Between you and me I become we
and we praise whoever we choose to praise
because we hear the doves cry out for love
and understanding. I’m standing here talking,
probably rocking back and forth cause I’m nervous,
sure that spilling these thoughts forth is
a step towards seeing inside.

Cause you can’t hide in the spotlight.
You think I’m in it, but you’re in it—
He’s in it; we’re in it. I think the spotlight
Is a state of mind—a kind of rising out of our
small bodies in the collective conscious
Of a million souls who are
All
Universally
Alike.

Words are songs sent to god,
Or the universe, or whatever you call him.
It? Her? Pronouns can’t pronounce a
meaning bigger than life itself.

Songs are letters with no return
Address, postage, or envelope—nothing
But hope that their message will filter into
Many minds. That they’ll find their destination.

A man plays in the subway station, guitar case open,
for people to see the genius inside, the light.
They say “Namaste” means the light in me bows
to the light in you—how they fit all that into
one word is beyond me, but if hurt packs
so much force into explosions and
a mother’s love can span oceans, I think
distance means nothing and vaulting from one
dimension to another should be our new profession.