Stupid F*cking Octopus

I’m sorry that the world keeps denying your struggle.

It’s disturbing that nobody can see
the blood on their hands.

I’m horrified that institutionalized hate claims your lives.

It’s a sin

that children are killed as they play.

I’m stunned that “allies” can be the most clueless of all.

It’s absurd how the loudest supporters

can be the strongest at silencing.

I mourn that centuries of pain and suffering aren’t just yesterday’s roots,

but the branches and leaves

hovering over all of us today.

My heart breaks when I hear your weeping…

so please don’t call my pain a distraction from yours.

God forbid my cousin is detained because of his name,

and that the guards subject him to waterboarding every day.

Did you know rectal feeding has no nutritional value?

God forbid my friend’s father is killed dancing at a wedding,

because they think his family’s ululations of celebration are war cries.

Do Americans still fire guns into the air on the Fourth of July?

God forbid my friend’s niece is killed by Israeli war planes,

collateral damage because she chose to sleep in her own bed.

Amazing how civilians are terrified of those “freedom fighters.”

God forbid that a Sikh cab driver picks up the wrong customer,

who tries to shoot him in the head for wrapping his long hair.

He should have put an American flag on his radio antennae like my dad.

The world threatens your lives and loved ones,

but that doesn't mean my fears are less valid or real.

I know my pleas are addressed to you,

but it is something else that has me screaming to be heard.

It’s that goddamn monster that keeps strangling me with one of its tentacles.

You know the one,

that fucking octopus,

with a tentacle that looks an awful lot like a noose

the barrel of a police officer’s gun,

or a school-to-prison pipeline?

The same stupid octopus,

with suction cups that look like hundreds of unmarked graves at the border,

the words of a new immigration law

or an armed militia by a barbed wire fence.

The same stupid, fucking octopus

that looks like the necklace of beads that “bought” an island,

that inks out its disease and genocide,

and claims a God-given right to all oceans and lands.

The same tentacled monster

that won’t let me board a train before thoroughly searching my bag,

and has TSA asking “Why do you need two bottles of water?”

Here’s hoping I don’t get thirsty and they think

I’m turning my bladder into a bomb.

It’s that stupid, fucking octopus that has me screaming,

that is trying to squeeze the life out of you and me.

It’s smart. It’s crafty.

It knows to hide behind its different legs.

It learned early on to deceive us
by keeping us far apart.

This fucking octopus
– it is efficiently sinister in its work –

it convinces us that to survive

only one margin can be at the center.

It tricks us into fighting one another.

This stupid octopus has us looking only at its tentacles,

hiding its slimy, slick, and manipulative body

behind words like “Illegal Immigration,” “Terrorism,”

or the “War on Drugs.”

This stupid, fucking octopus knows

the best way to stop all of us,

is to have us silence each other.

But every once in a while, the octopus slips,

(out of desperation? pride? instability?)

and our eyes trace the length of the tentacles gripping us tight.

The opportunity comes

to get a glimpse of something monstrous hovering above.

That calculated presence, that ancient oppressive base,

watching, waiting, connecting us all

with its nefarious schemes of universal and self hate.

This colossal controlling monster;

bigger than our margins,

but afraid of our power all the same.

It happens in a moment,

gone as fast as it arrives,

but long enough to leave the memory of a question.

Maybe there is more than me.

Maybe there is another way.

Please believe me.

I really don’t mean to distract from your pain.

I have no intention of erasing your struggles or cries.

But I also need room to scream because of mine.

I need to cry out because I know

the tentacle around me is just part of something more.

I remember that body lurking above.

I feel its invisible, domineering gaze.

I feel its pulse on my skin.

I know it has you too.

I scream because this cycle is one we should know.

Haven’t we seen how our poking at one tentacle won’t do a goddamn thing?

The power to aggravate is not the power to change.

It just makes the monster squeeze all of us tighter still.

I learned from tracing history that 

freeing myself will do nothing to the body above.

Finding my own way out of its grasp

will only bring more harm to you.

Cutting off one part of this monster

leaves it angry, desperate,

more likely to kill anyone who remains.

What I know of liberation 

is that it is not real if I claim to be free 

while another is crushed to death.

Haven’t you learned the same?

I promise,

I scream not above you, but alongside you.

My pains are not just for me but for us.

This suffering is too big to be carried by one.

But our power to heal is destroyed
when we deny each other.

I cry out with you, asking

why do we maintain these tentacle-lined boxes that keep us apart?

Why are we so willing to help the monster do its work?

When will we finally see

that our divisions bring us no closer to freedom,

that ignoring each others’ pain denies the reality floating above?

When will we wake up to the truth

the hope

the solution

that we must be partners in our struggles to find release

from the monster that divides its victims

so it can protect its irrational self,
so it can hide its true form?

God forbid this stupid fucking octopus

has us fighting each other

while still killing us in its grasp.