them/id

FADE IN: two men.

And then I would be a cis hetero male.

What does that mean?

I am a person whose gender identity and biological sex assigned at birth, align.

So, no more calling yourself straight guy?

Nope.

There’s also agender; we refer to them as “them”. They see themselves as existing without gender.

Gotcha.

And we have a queer and a couple of lesbians.

Gone are the days when I used to say, “we’re here, we’re queer, let’s go have a beer.”

Yeah, you can’t say that anymore cuz you’re not queer and you’re making a joke at the expense of a queer.

But I’m not, really.

No, I get it, it’s just times are changing.

Right.

FADE OUT.

velocity

velocity

Velocity.
Extreme focus ready to rock the day.
Mind at the service of the body.
At the ready,
What do you WANT to do today?

God, I get so overwhelmed by possibility.
Today’s explorations are endless!
It is like energy bottled, and ready for drinking.
And then here’s the thing:

I fear someone will take it away.
I fear I have to give it up, take on someone else’s wishes.
It haunts me. I stiffen at the idea of it.
And then (the irony), I yearn for it.
Maybe some rest, or going over there is a better choice.

Dog,
Lover,
Family,
Bills, calls, dishes, laundry, etc,
The unexpectedness of life,

Freedom is having the choice
To use my own velocity the way I want to.
To make decision deep within the soils of the soul
So I can birth strong roots to grow a magnificent plant
With leaves that stretch for days,
To nurture not just her,
But all those around her.

tender

tender

Weeks, since writing.
Cause? Open heart surgery.
Recuperating is like watching hair grow.
He said many things.
She did the same.
Words, on repeat, like radio.

You don’t really know someone.. until you do.
A wakeup call.
Without warning,
We went from green to red.

I take responsibility.
For stepping over my boundaries.
I carry that mark.
Wounds, please heal fast.
I hope time is our friend, my love.

What a time to be disconnected
In this beautiful, vast cyber city.
What should be hibernation with cuddles and warm blankets
What should be hugs holding us through the night –
Is not.
Let’s see how it turns out…

Tender.
Heart. Pride. Certainty. Love.

Lil’ One

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Dear Lil’ One,

Oh mighty one
Survival is an interesting thing.
Living from a fight or flight perspective is daunting and exhausting.
I know you know this.

And yet, here we are yet again, sitting opposite each other.
Waiting.
It’s the waiting game.
Who’ll quit first.

I want you to know
I come with peace in my heart
A white flag in my hand
Hoping we can come to some agreement.

Hoping you’ll be open to some space
A lil’ room for a shift in perspective
See what kind of information that tells us.

The truth is,
What we’ve been doing hasn’t been working.
I know you feel this.
We are spinning plates.

How about a new journey
A new path
No map, besides our instincts and love
Not fear, not competition, not stupid pride
Nothin’ but us.

There is space for you.
There is love for you.
There is possibility beyond this.

Liza Fernandez

sucks the air thin

sucks the air thin

There’s a silence that’s almost deafening.
The kind where, at a party, the music stops and everyone looks up and says to no one, “Hey, what happened?”
The kind that the body shutters from its piercing.
A Void.

I was turning 16. I wanted a big party; bodyguards, a live band, DJ, pay at the door, the whole shebang. I worked hard; I got my artistic sister to create the flyer, gave them out at my and my brother’s schools. A week before, everyone was talking about it, the word spread quick. The band was known enough to build a crowd, I was in love with the drummer who should’ve been the lead singer he was that eccentric.

I rented a trophy room off a big sports facility, facing a big oval where my brother’s school played footy. The party drew a huge crowd, a long line waited around the bend even until 11pm, an hour before close. I was shocked. I barely knew anyone, and when I did, they were intoxicated and in the throes of what it took to be a teenager at a party in the 90s.

Flash forward to afterward. Mum, bro and sis, and my best friends, with black trash bags and rubber gloves, helped me clean up the evidence. Well, enough to get our safety deposit back.

I must’ve sat down somewhere, took it all in. I hope I did. I’m hoping I popped a squat facing the oval of lush greenery and tsunamic eucalyptus trees. Muscles spent and feet regaining circulation from improper use of heels. A mix of pride and exhaustion. A mix of elation and isolation.

And then silence.
The Void.

How it sucks the air thin.

7am magic

7am Magic

7am
Silence, even if it’s only for a few minutes
I come to,
Coming out of Salvador Dali dreams
I am peeking my eyes open, like a secret unfolding
I am breathing in the long night’s pillows and blankets
The smells of Dreamlandia

Silly, inconsequential memories arise
Like counting sheep
These dreams are colors, shapes, and the strangest of narratives
I believe them all
Like a child, all in
Dreamlandia

Silence,
Scary yet familiar
Like Terminator; a stranger within a friend
Metal on vulnerable skin,
The Contradiction
Oh silence, I salute you.

Fog, sleepy sun, empty streets
The greenery outside stretches their limbs from the long night
Yes, here’s the in-between
Here’s the gray
When the inner Self approaches and softly whispers to the soul,

“Today is a gift.”