#carryus

[sublimespiritoracle]

I open my arms to change. Gm soul tribe. #wind #direction #carryus (at Mumbai, Maharashtra) https://www.instagram.com/p/CQU9TvcrzJR/?utm_medium=tumblr

[robotsforcake]

The elevator is broken and these clowns are on stair strike. #pugs #lazy #carryus #pugsofinstagram (at Wallingford, Seattle)

[yourenotsofaraway]

Carry Us.

The morning after the election I did what writers do: I wrote. This poem flew out of me the moment I awoke. In trying to make sense of things, my heart thought about someone I love, someone who didn’t vote the way I did, and now I’d have to talk to them about it. If we were to have any kind of relationship, I’d have to help them understand not what I thought, but how I felt. After sharing this with a few close friends, I was encouraged to share it with the rest of you. “This will resonate,” one friend wrote. So I’m sharing. Caveat: I have and have had wonderful men in my life. This is not about any of you. I am grateful for you. So read, if you like. Share. Let’s hope we can, in the coming years, show up and carry each other. xoxo ----

Carry Us. - Kari Luna, 11/9/16 He’s the man who talked over you in meetings
 The frat boy who assaulted your best friend He’s the boy who called you a bitch for having an opinion, the boss who hurled things at you but acted like it didn’t happen when you saw him the next morning. 

He’s the manager at the pizza place who
 thought it was his right to grope you just because you were there.

 He’s the charming guy you met on your birthday,
 the one you shouldn’t have trusted,
 whose friend was even worse 
especially when he assaulted you.
 He’s the guy at the bar who won’t leave you alone.

 He’s the man standing in front of you in line, the one who takes up all the space, 
 stepping on your toes as he turns around 
 and never says he’s sorry. 
He’s the co-worker who takes credit for your ideas
 The cop who stops and frisks your boyfriend just because he’s black 
The family member who squirms when you introduce your queer friends/Latino boyfriends/mentors/teachers/lovers of a world not recognized by him. He’s the man who will never hear you
 no matter how loudly you yell because the world is his, because you don’t exist,
 at least, 
not at a level he’s worried about.
 And you wanted to stand up to them, all of them, But you were young you didn’t have those kinds of legs yet, ones that would free you from bad situations, kick a date rapist, walk away instead of enduring abuse.
 You didn’t yet have limbs that would carry you to safety and shatter little glass ceilings along the way to standing tall and being strong,
 a place you’ve been for decades until you woke up this morning and felt those legs slide out 
from underneath you. Because you know this man.
 And now this man is president. And you can say he’s not my president and you can believe that things will change and you can know that tomorrow you will find your legs and stand strong again, that you will fight, and not give up because there are young women
 just now finding their legs and they need us. But for today? 
You remember. You pause and allow your legs to rest so that tomorrow 
they will be stronger. So that tomorrow, they will carry you again. 



[i-love-you-from-a-distance]