Journey to Ixtlan

The poem “Purge the Horror” is about the killing of non-normative people. The life-ending encounters are actualized by everyday people, not hardened criminals, responding to differences in religious affiliation, sexual orientation, or gender identity. The “why” of these crimes is submerged in societal intolerance, prejudice, fear, and the inability to connect with the deceased as a fellow human being. Am I talking about past killings, those lost in decades past? No. LGBTQ people can face life-threatening situations on a too regular basis. The use of a public bathroom becomes a situation in which injury or death may be the outcome. People with non-straight sexual orientations put their lives at risk when public displays of affection are presented, these same displays that straight couples may perform in complete safety. The causes of the violence are buried deep in the psyche of society. My poem is about that monster. Similar horrors are visited on other groups like POC and women. This poem is also dedicated to them.


Purge the Horror

I was murdered for the crimes
not found on pages of the Law
instead the faults are understood
in society's secret soul
declarations are always there
enshrined in hearts for all to see
even as their eyes are blind
to prejudice that they abide

frowns accompany the baleful stares
imagined crimes where none exist
spun from clothe of inner fears
imagined fully and then expressed
this toxic soup of prejudice
systematic at its worse
is conveyed by single stroke
the masses crowd behind the lone

unaware of their bias
blind to bigotry yelling curses
those measured words were weaponized
as abhorrence became the bond
when the normative masks all hate
behind flawed judgment thought correct
the worst of man is brought forth
while Satan cheers from far below

I admitted to foreign status
not conforming to tribe's standards
when my self-hood became the chasm
while only asking normal measures
sadly this was denied
as the rules were bent to bother
the aberrant among the holy
executed to purge the Horror.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180727.

The poem "Outside of Broken" is about the action of scapegoating others for their choices contrary to our own. Life is harsh and frustrating. Stuff happens, solutions are sought. One easy answer is blame the differences of others. This allows both distraction and an empty promise that the stamping out of the impropriety would somehow make the world a better place.


Outside of Broken

There's part of me they try to fix
if conformity is their final bliss
aligning earth to fit the mold
with me as cog that's in the wrong
I'll nod and say that I'm a mess
with baggage strewed from here to there
yet none of that is what they see
when searching for those tendencies.

Everyone is sick with pain
crying over Death's harsh gains
grabbing the hints of joy
in the face of change's storms
what will prosper must also die
the circle turns, the fixed are lies
truth is found in ashes left
in hearths now cold with life spent.

How they rail at the storm
beat their fists in driving rain
yell obscenities to the clouds
while the lighting strikes the ground
explanations must be found
for what is life but God's redoubt
and what almighty deigns to sleep
while its children fall to defeat?

Scapegoats are the richer food
when sad crow is menu's proof
karma asks for recompense
now serving wages of the sins
it's no wonder others caused
some disconnect with sky above
look to find the guilty ones
far beyond the land of self.

This is where my story turns
back to mending what's not been torn
or should I say instead perhaps
finding fault where none exists
I'll deviate from center line
act the fool, it matters not
when fingers point to exclaim
why the world has lost its way.

There is so much of me to fix
the world cares little to assist
instead the focus finds its mark
in areas assigned to heart
who I love and who I cherish
these things evoked by soul's endeavors
to find some comfort in the world
inside of life, outside of broken.

2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20161213.

An incredibly dear friend posted a comment stating their aggravation with people saying my friend is “well spoken” or "talked white". My friend is a vibrant, capable, and very smart person. They also embrace their culture with pride. The “compliment” sounds like a two timed slap, once to them and once to their world. This inspired me to write “So Much More”. I hope I did my friend justice with these words.

So Much More

I already
know I unique
God's creation
no other one.
The product of
culture most rich
I’m part of it
and so much more.

In one sentence
you do usurp
innate power
I've attained.
Fae compliment
from another
has the impact
like a hammer.

Is this insult
of the masses?
Do you accuse
me of better?
Am I traitor
to my people
if I collude
with your manners?

I walk this line
between two worlds
alien to each
says your words.
Hear me clearly
shed your blinds
I’m not that
I’m so much more.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160502.