And Maybe Together
We are who we become to be. I couldn’t change that I hurt for others’ hurt. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t walk away. And maybe, I stayed with the hurt long enough to make a friend. And maybe that friendship grew with others. And maybe these friendships became deeper as shit got realer. And maybe as shit got realer we learned more. But we were still young. So we played and laughed. We were curious so we traveled to lands far near.And maybe we learned ways and means as students of the lands from gutters and fields. And maybe we outwardly with many more of us. And maybe then, in and up with jobs and kids, and losses, so many losses. And we remember mourn our fallen and we return to the hurt.
We awaken with this pain, this knowing this longing. We rise to greet the day and hold both ambition and tears into future held by the choices we make in the present and in the past. And now, I held hostage in this literal prison, this place, we have yet to abolish has souls behind these walls and there is hurt. I can’t look or walk away; I can’t not feel all of this. This forced separation from my other half; distant lovers singing songs of sorrow for a better tomorrow.
This which has me asking our ancestors for guidance. This, which now has you; friends I met along the way, friends who go by many names who sometimes call compta, heval, koukolofori, comrade, And now in here, brother.
And maybe you remind me, what has always been true – new possibilities and horizons come; for there is always a way, a way, tough and tender as Che would say.
And so maybe I reveal share, listen with all the push our movements have so we are who we become to be (with a little help from our friends).
Which can always be as radiant as the warm glow of a sun setting across across the bullet-rattled lands of kurdistan where heval, we held hands in comfort, with loyalty at the edge of your autonomous neighborhood. For our world has many worlds and many colors. And maybe you never left with your farewell-as martyrs never die. Your hope and smile survive.
Biji Biji Rojava.
And in the deep green jungles of Chiapas, you , compa, carved out a liberated territory, to sing, dance late into the night. You welcomed me to your gentle vibrancy of colorful dresses and pitch black halacavas.
The Caricols of Morelia and Oventic held thousands of years of history and maybe, it seems, we hide our face to reveal ours, ourselves.
!La Lucha Sigue! !Zapatistavive!
And maybe when we’re not seen by terrible eyes we can become much more than a foes narrative a prosecutor’s subject. Much more than “criminal”, “elements”. Behind these walls are our community members. I am an abolitionist. My work is here now. I say to the men: I will always give you my all to expand what is possible. So show me what you love, let me see through your eyes as you through mine. Our Liberation is bound together. Let our memories be our escape plan.
Yours In Solidarity
Peppy
“I’ve always seen myself as a collection of sparks, passions, lives that I have been fortunate enough to become with. It’s an honor to have worked with so many. I wanted to offer both a reflection and a continuance of our journeys There is so much more to say and I endeavor to, for now this is a start. “