HastyWords's Blog, page 36
February 7, 2019
ON THIS BROKEN DAY
I went off my medication. It isn’t doing me any good. I still hurt. I still cry. I still mess up. I still feel worthless. It’s been years. My normal. It’ll always be part of who I am.
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The guillotine fell
Quick and sharp
Cut all the tears
The screams short
The body left
Empty and numb
In a dreary heap
Just flesh and bone
That’s the drama
That is felt
As if all the warmth
Is stolen forever
And the cold
Is granted a stay
Every good thought
That was ever had
Leaps to their death
Obliterated
On the sharpest
Edges of dark
Cut and torn
In shreds they lay
Not even enough
Left of them
To bleed
On this broken day
February 6, 2019
EMOTIONALLY HOMELESS
Such a big world to live in…
Are you HOME where you are?
I’ve always had a house. I’ve never been homeless. But I’ve felt homeless. Like now. Like for the last several years. I’ve lived in limbo.
Emotionally homeless.
What makes a place home? Is it a person? Is it being at peace with yourself? Is it learning to be content no matter the circumstance? Or is it a person?
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February 5, 2019
WHERE NOTHING LIVES
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The whispers dissipate
Like shadows, melting
On frosted window panes
And the words free fall
Like snowflakes filling in
A million hollow footsteps
Where will the tears go
Or the laughter we sowed
Where will the kisses land
Or the hugs that we loved
Where will the words go
When all the ears go deaf
Where will I go
When nothing is left
OPEN DOORS
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The door stands open
Just a slivered crack
Just perfectly enough
To see the universe
Swimming lazily by
As if on a movie screen
Just perfectly enough
To feel its icy cold sigh
Creep sneakily through
On tipsy drunken toes
Just perfectly enough
To see smiling moons
Flirting with the stars
And taking it too far
Just perfectly enough
To hear the whiskers
Of time coat the world
In its magical… dew
This door standing open
Waiting to see what I do
SWALLOWING SECRETS
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She swallows
A small rainbow
And closes her eyes
Letting the music
Swim in her blood
Windows down
Static wind blowing
As the tempo rises
Quickening her pulse
Lift off, she flies alone
Through cloudy skies
Lost inside the blue
So afraid of falling
Of failing everything
Of believing her heart
When it’s so often lied
Soaring high above
Her poisoned mind
She finds the secrets
All rainbows hide
A secret that sleeps
Deep inside the high
SHE’S WORRY
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Worry is a creative soul
Knocking sense around
Like alphabet blocks
Building wooden castles
Stuffing them with dreams
Just to watch them burn
Carrying extra demons
In case the devil alone
Isn’t enough to destroy
The human she’s become
WHERE DEATH NOW STANDS
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The orange furnace
Becomes but embers
Upon its final breath
The charred trunks
Stand tall and dark
And it’s quiet…
As if completely
Exhausted and worn
From a battle
It could not fight
Energy burned off
Damaged and broken
Nothing is welcome
In this sad place
Silently standing
And waiting…
For the sun to shine
For the rain to fall
For the singing birds
And waiting…
For sadness to pass
For new life to come
Where death now stands
WHERE HOPE HIDES
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Love and sunshine
Caress the surface
Penetrate the skin
Warming feelings
That needed light
Making our souls
Beautifully happy
Full of hope again
January 18, 2019
IF I GO MISSING, #BeREAL
Let’s be real for a moment. Life and death kind of real. A young woman is afraid nobody will come looking for her if she goes missing. What is the reality surrounding her concern and what can we do to fix it?
A few years ago I ran across a letter written by Brianna Jonnie who was only 14 years old. The letter was sent to the Police and the Mayor of her city. I was moved and pained by the reality of her words.
Here are a few excerpts from the letter she wrote to select officials:
I am more likely than my friends, to be murdered by a person unknown to me. I am more likely to be raped, assaulted or sexually violated. I cannot take public transportation or go for a walk without being approached or ogled at by men I do not know, even in the south end of the city; even during the daytime.
Asking for the public’s help sixteen days after an Indigenous girl goes missing is equivalent to announcing publicly her life does not matter, or at least, not as much as others. It teaches my teachers, my friends, my future employers, the children I coach, the boys & men I meet and the citizens of Winnipeg, an Indigenous girl’s life does not matter. It teaches the boys and men, who discard girls in rivers, beat them in back lanes and drug them at parties that Indigenous girls’ lives don’t matter – they won’t be missed, no one will look for them. It teaches me my life does not matter. ~Brianna Jonnie
As a mom of my own young daughter I heard Brianna’s fear but I also witnessed her fierce determination to be the voice breaking the silence. It was this impassioned tenacity that Byron Hamel and I wanted to support. So… we made a film.
And when I say we I mean WE.
A whole bunch of great people came together to support Brianna. The project team consisted of a brilliant , a great cellist, a wonderful sound team, a dressmaker, the local artist behind the REDress project, two incredible DP’s who filmed the dance at the end, and The Once. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention all the help we got from our 3 lovely daughters, the numerous people who contributed money to help us get the film in front of audiences, and the friends who supported and shared this project.
In March 1, 2016 Brianna asked the Winnipeg police chief to “take five minutes of uninterrupted time to read what I have to say and reflect. I assure you, it is important.”
And now we would like to ask you to take 16 minutes and watch IF I GO MISSING. Share it, leave a review, and reflect on what you can do in your own community to help fight for equal treatment and care for Indigenous kids who go missing.
WATCH IF I GO MISSING
[image error]The star of the film, Brianna Jonnie is an Indigenous teen volunteer and activist in Winnipeg Manitoba.
At the age of 14, Brianna became the focus of a controversial media frenzy when she wrote an impassioned letter to police and government officials concerning missing and murdered Indigenous teens and kids.
After meeting with the mayor of Winnipeg and it’s chief of police, she became the target of much criticism surrounding her view that there was a difference between how Indigenous and non-Indigenous people were being handled by authorities and influencers when they went missing.
Today she continues to serve the community as a whole, and is the recipient of the 2017 Lieutenant Governor’s Vice-Regal Volunteer Award.
[image error]The director of the film, Byron Hamel was exposed to the entertainment industry from an early age, first gaining a love for mixing live music, and then earning a BFA in Theatre. After school was over, he began his own promotional video business and simultaneously accepted a position as Associate Producer with CBC Radio, where he wrote and produced hundreds of scripts for local and national broadcasts. But his passion has always been making television and films, so he created Weirdo Hat with Angela Bellingham.
He got his start in television with MTS (Now Bell MTS) in Winnipeg Manitoba, where he produced and directed “A Cycle Broken“, an intriguing look into the world of Guardians of the Children, a group of bikers who protect abused kids.
Byron Hamel is now best known as the Producer, Director, and Writer of the short documentary “If I Go Missing“, an art-fueled humanizing documentary about the struggle for equal treatment of murdered and missing Indigenous women and children, starring real-life Indigenous teen activist Brianna Jonnie. The film was originally produced for Bravo.
Byron also produces and stars in “How To Get Beat Up“, a comedic lifestyle TV series about martial arts on Fibe TV1 and YouTube.
January 17, 2019
BREATHING ASHES
I think I can safely say, at least here in America, that society is triggered. And it’s having a hard time finding its way back to a place where rational balance lives. And who can blame us… we have a LOT to be triggered about.
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Anarchy
Steps heavy with
Steel toed boots
Torches replace
Keystrokes
Wooden stakes
Carved into words
Skewering insides
Turning logic
Into a constant
Trickling streams
Of overdosed panic
Invisible blood
Flows thick
Drawing poison
From weak souls
Until the puss
Runs sticky
And thoughts sit
Restless
In puddles
Of old and dried
Scabby wounds
Until remorse
Draws clarity
From our bruised
Purple and blue
Beaten heart
And only then
Will logic settle
Into a steady rhythm
And only then
Will we be able
To turn ashes
Into breath
