Halia Ganotise

https://haliaganotise.com/

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Shouts for the Sleeping

I'm a Poet. I write stuff, read it aloud too.

If I drop the title would it still hold true?

Maybe I'm transcribing memory viscerally onto parchment with a feral gaze.

As I sort through emotions deeper than David Bowie's iconic maze.

Maybe I'm too stupid to understand why silence surrounds some tragedies with origins to Humans.

Maybe that's why I continue to shout at bustling street corners, unaware my words are left ignored.

But maybe my world got more than it bartered for.

Joy speckles my notebook pages with greater rage than my pain.

A catalogue for every reason why my waking is not effort spent in vain.

What titles do you wear? Who else could you be?

[haliaganotise]

[haliaganotise]

Free Marionette: Survival Rituals in Bone & Nerve

Mirror Neurons; puppet strings to my skeleton. Are you ready for the show? Consistency breathes safety to greet my authenticity. Scrambled signals meet chaos.

My laxidasical strings become banjo-tight. Be careful, if I’m wound up just right We’ll both get cuts where our callouses can’t reach.

Uncertainty triggers a childhood favorite: Red Light, Green Light. Kerfluffled reality has me singing. Should I stay or should I go? I’m not sure of either choice. I’m waiting for patterns to solidify. Like jello sittin’ in my fridge. I’m tempted to poke it, check if its done yet.

I’m making tallies beneath two columns. They read “Naughty” and “Nice” But I’m missing the red suit that matches this job description.

Decades of programming contradict my patience For hot & cold cups of tea. You know the cup you warm up three times, Before you remember to drink it. I’m a lot like that.

When my skeleton holds a mirror in someone’s face. I’m utterly forgettable to those with allergies to change. I don’t like George Washington either but I ain’t got change to spare. My mirrors aren’t a circus trick. Sometimes people choose to be pricks.

My mirror neurons spin my head around. I’m caught on a swivel. Ready to leave, unready to accept defeat. Why does the world need winners?

I’ll hold out hope for the partner Who is unafraid of their own reflection. A partner I don’t hide from, for my own protection. My bones are weary from saying, “I’m lucky I made it out alive.” Truth is, luck had nothing to do with it. My hairline fractures are all the proof I need.

Bodies break under pressure & strengthen over time. Push them too hard, you’re toeing a dangerous line. I babied my shattered sternum alone. Created peace I proudly call home. My compass is broken and always points north. Those who are gentle are welcome to stay. Those who are not, simply go away. I’m cutting free of these damned puppet strings. On your marks, get set.. Cuz bitch I’m a free marionette.

[haliaganotise]

[haliaganotise]

[haliaganotise]

5 Minutes

5 minutes. What could I say in 5 minutes? I could break down why patriarchal love ain’t the same as queer love. Can’t do that. 9 and a half minutes.

5 minutes. I could share my declaration of war against academic boot lickers. It’s a love note in disguise. Hmmm, can’t do that either. Despite trimmin’ my verbose fatty edges. It’s still 8 minutes and SPARE CHANGE.

5 fucking minutes. What could I say? Without my work soundin’ bent into C-SHARP. My voice grates against a supremacists chalkboard, Barkin in protest. There’s enough pale faces runnin’ around spewin’ Prophetic non-sense into this chaos. They claim to hear god, but I think it’s Andrew Jackson’s ghost. You know, the white guy on the new 1$ bill? It says twenty but only seem to work at the Dollar General. People are two steps short of holdin’ scalps again, in 2025.

5 minutes. Look at that. I spoke for 5 minutes. Like the academics I critique, I managed to say nothing quite at all. It’s hard to get radical in 5 minutes or less. I’ll give it a try.

Fuck fascists. Fuck rapists. Fuck committed racists. Fuck false money gods too. But… I’m just a white girl, who bleeds brown. Will any of you think its true? I guess fuck me too.

5 fucking minutes. I hope you like it. I wrote this for you. I spun out yesterday from 11am till half past midnight. Tears turned pumpkin lilly. I hate surprises.

[haliaganotise]

Weekly Reflection

[haliaganotise]

Disclosure's Double-Edge

There's a clock somewhere.

The second-hand mocks my rapid heartbeat.

The hour-hand moves too quickly for my current task.

Horse hooves clatter through my eardrums.

My tongue sits heavy bound by doubt.

Conversations seem easy until I begin to calculate proper disclosure amounts.

Speak to be seen.

Hold and be held.

I don't know what any of that means; my memories push me one step closer to Void's ledge.

Survival taught me weariness for Disclosure's cruel double-edge.

If I knock on your door, ready to preform rituals disclosure is tailored for...

I could be swaddled with tender tears... but I've lived long enough to fear Lion's dens in disguise.

Built by men with beady eyes.

My disclosure?

Their permission slip.

Printed paper with authority to tear my labia, ignore my screams.

Jelly my face into a pillow. Sorry, I meant jam.

Authorization for replication.

I'm a cultured "girl" with lived experience.

My body sculpted by vulnerability violations.

Humans primed to take; ransacking my temple for fruits absent from the breakfast buffet line.

2-hours tick by; who knew humans could hold their breath this long and stay alive?

I'd tell you more about me, but, it's a matter of national security.

So I don't.

I swallow my disclosure until it forms a pit in my stomach.

This should NOT define sensations of "fullness".