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Sent to you by moya via Google Reader:
If you asked it, this body would tell you that it is tired. That i run it harder than i should. That i don't take care of it the way it deserves. It would tell you about sterile white lights and sterile white voices beaming in on it from every direction. Demanding results, scouting for hidden keys. It could show you the places that were dug up, the pieces of it that were taken, the scars on the bodyland that will never fade. It could show you where tendons we moved, sensation was stolen–a casualty of a battle lost long ago by both sides.
It would show you how i have my sister's laugh, my father's face, my mother's hands and spirit. It would tell you that there were memories past on that only exist in feeling, color and dreams. It could recount the strength of my mother's arms, the way she cried and her pain in letting me go, passing me on to my mother's joy and oblivion in taking me in. It would tell you that i was already gone. It would tell you that maybe i was never found and that i am still finding. It would tell you that it loves me, even though i don't know how to love it.
If you asked it, it would tell you that we made it through; made it out. And we are trying to make it home.
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(This piece was written at the Azolla Stroy* queer and trans of color disabled and chronically ill love and zine making workshop at the 2010 Allied Media Conference. Thank you to all of the amazing people that were there and shared such powerful, tender, moving and inspiring pieces of yourself. i love yall. Look out for the Azolla Story Zine! *The Azolla Story is a closed online community-movement-home for queer disabled people of color. )
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