A Little Voice Came Leaping

Just after I turned four years old my mother gave me my first journal. The first few entries I made were actually dictations written out by my mother, but eventually, I was able to write out my own words in my own hand. As evidenced by the journal, my days as a four year old were filled with making observations and communicating concerns about the life I maintained. One of the most hilarious is revealed in the one-lined entry, "I wish I could read". Since then I have continued to track my observations and concerns in journals of different colors, bindings, and sizes. Now, with the new year, and thus change and positive development in mind, I have decided to start a new journal right here, on this page. I'm pledging at least a poem (or some other kind of entry) a week to aid in making my little voice, and any others out there that have a desire to be heard, to come leaping out of the boxes we often mistakenly keep them in.

"Runaway"— Kanye West & Pusha T (My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy)
(Photo credit: Grace “Grace-Face” Sanabria) 

“She was the one who stayed at our house and watched our silverware tarnish and I was the one who traveled the world and was constantly surprised that the houses I decorated were not my own, the vases I put inside them were not my own, the arched doorways were not my own, the people I loved were not my own, the feelings I felt were not my own, my feet were not my own, my mouth and hands and eyelashes and teeth and skin were not my own, because one day, it would all be taken from me.”

—   The Adults, Alison Espach, 282-3

"Seasons came and changed the time/When I grew up, I called him mine/He would always laugh and say/’Remember when we used to play?’/Bang bang, I shot you down/Bang bang, you hit the ground/Bang bang, that awful sound/Bang bang, I used to shoot you down/Music played, and people sang/Just for me, the church bells rang/Now he’s gone, I don’t know why/And till this day, sometimes I cry/He didn’t even say goodbye/He didn’t take the time to lie/Bang bang, he shot me down"

"I was staring at the sky, just looking for a star, To pray on, or wish on, or something like that, I was having a sweet fix of a daydream of a boy, Whose reality I knew, was a hopeless to be had, But then the dove of hope began its downward slope, And I believed for a moment that my chances, Were approaching to be grabbed, But as it came down near, so did a weary tear-I thought it was a bird, but it was just a paper bag…And I went crazy again today, looking for a strand to climb, Looking for a little hope, Baby said he couldn’t stay, wouldn’t put his lips to mine, And a fail to kiss is a fail to cope, I said, ‘Honey, I don’t feel so good, don’t feel justified, Come on put a little love here in my void,’-he said, ’It’s all in your head,’ and I said, ‘So’s everything’- But he didn’t get it I thought he was a man, But he was just a little boy…."

Song 1, Doug Aitken 
Hirshhorn, Washington, DC, March, 2012
So many secrets, so little…
The Evil Spirits - Auguste Rodin 

So many secrets, so little…

The Evil Spirits - Auguste Rodin