Linnea, thank you for that comment. You received this poem exactly as I meant it to be received. The world, every single one of us, regardless where we are located on this planet cannot afford to look away from what is happening. That is what happened in Germany 1933-1945. “We didn’t know.” Yes you do know and it will not go away, just because you are ignoring it.
Absolutely. Keep telling the truth and helping people to see the atrocities. It will not simply “get better” unless we make it so. Even here in the San Francisco Bay Area, a place known for being progressive and safer for marginalized people, no one feels safe. My trans, queer, neurodivergent and black and brown clients and friends are all at risk. Even those historically with privilege are also at risk. We cannot afford to simply bury our heads and wring our hands.
“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good [humans] to do nothing”
I like that quote. It is so true. And no woman is safe. No immigrant is safe. No certainly no Challenged Person. Everybody being not pseudo-christian, white, rather wealthy (or obscene rich), bowing to patriarchy and hierarchy is at risk.
I write what is in my heart an moves me. I might not life it day to day up close and personal, yet believe me when I say what I cope with every day for the last 55 years, what my body has internalized, lets me feel it as if. Glad to have you beside me on this path. What do you worry most about? Tell me. I‘d like to know.
I worry about my safety as a woman and bisexual human navigating in a patriarchal world where some people see me as an object or something to be dismissed, or condescended to. I worry that I am a deep thinker and have big conversations sometimes, that could make me a target by some. Just as so many can be targeted for their beliefs, ideas, different opinions at this time, and really, at any time. I worry about freedom being taken away from us that has been so hard won. I worry about libraries, writers, people without access to resources or health care. People sleeping in tents in winter in my town. I worry about animals, and young people (including my children and step children) dealing with rising costs and little pay. I worry that there might be no world to hand down to future generations. I worry about entering middle age, navigating health stuff , and no ability to retire in sight. I worry I won't have enough energy to meet my obligations in a week. I worry about whether I have made the best decisions, and done everything I could for those I love, and for those I spend time with, and heck, for myself too. I worry that my country may be invaded, that even within my country, there is alot of anger and far right views surfacing. And that the disinformation is fueling it. And I worry about getting a good night's sleep. Wow. That's alot. You're probably sorry you asked. Still not a complete list! Cheers and thank you ! 🙏🌎☕️🫶 good night
Every word you wrote is the echo of a world too many of us are trying to carry without dropping the pieces. You named it so clearly—what it means to walk through this life as someone who thinks deeply, feels fully, and still chooses to care despite the cost.
I hear you. All of it. The fear, the exhaustion, the wondering if you've done enough—for others, for yourself. The ache of being objectified, dismissed, made to feel too much just for being present, awake, real. I know those rooms. I’ve stood in them, too.
You’re not alone in these worries.
They’re heavy because they matter. Because you matter. And because you're still here, speaking, even while the world feels like it’s fraying at the seams.
I don’t have all the answers, and I believe in naming things. In witnessing. In refusing to look away. And in holding space—like this one—for each other.
So no, that wasn’t too much. That was, is human. That was you being brave enough to say what so many carry in silence.
Thank you for being here. Thank you for being. I’m walking beside you.
Thank you for holding space! I agree we must keep naming things, witnessing, and refusing to look away. The world does feel like it's fraying at the seams. Thanks for the encouragement and have a lovely day!🪻
Naming things doesn’t make the world less frayed, but it does make it feel less lonely. And sometimes that’s enough to keep going. I believe in that—this quiet, steady refusal to look away. To keep showing up, even when everything in us aches.
So thank you for being part of that. For echoing back what matters.
I hope today gives you space to breathe, to feel held in some small, unexpected way. We’re in this together.
I'm still trying to articulate my befuddled, baffled, terrified reaction to America in the spring of 2025. The fear that they want us all to feel has scrambled my vocabulary. The part of me that's still hiding from the realness of this reality has to come out and speak. It gives me strength to see others who have not been knocked senseless by the "shock and awe" - a phrase that dates back to the invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq in the first few years of this century. I'm from San Francisco, too, yet I can't pretend we're safe here. If they will threaten an institution like Harvard, they will threaten the state universities like Berkeley and UCSF. Thank you for sharing this.
I might live in Germany now, but I know how it is.
I know what it means to survive in a system that tries to erase you—not just politically, but personally. I lived 47 years under the authoritarian white-slavery regime of my mother. I was ostracized by society since I was three. That kind of trauma doesn't end—it echoes. It teaches you how to read the warning signs before others want to admit they’re real.
What’s happening in America is not unfamiliar to me. It's a continuation of histories people prefer to call past. But we know better. We know the signs because we’ve lived them in bodies that weren’t allowed to exist peacefully.
So yes, they want us to be afraid.
But we’ve already learned how to survive fear.
Now we’re learning how to speak through it.
And I’m grateful to know that others—like you—are doing the same.
In solidarity,
Jay
🖤⧖ From the other side of the ocean, but right beside you.
Powerful and terrifying. All of this is happening right before our eyes and we cannot afford to look away.
Linnea, thank you for that comment. You received this poem exactly as I meant it to be received. The world, every single one of us, regardless where we are located on this planet cannot afford to look away from what is happening. That is what happened in Germany 1933-1945. “We didn’t know.” Yes you do know and it will not go away, just because you are ignoring it.
Absolutely. Keep telling the truth and helping people to see the atrocities. It will not simply “get better” unless we make it so. Even here in the San Francisco Bay Area, a place known for being progressive and safer for marginalized people, no one feels safe. My trans, queer, neurodivergent and black and brown clients and friends are all at risk. Even those historically with privilege are also at risk. We cannot afford to simply bury our heads and wring our hands.
“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good [humans] to do nothing”
I like that quote. It is so true. And no woman is safe. No immigrant is safe. No certainly no Challenged Person. Everybody being not pseudo-christian, white, rather wealthy (or obscene rich), bowing to patriarchy and hierarchy is at risk.
Chilling, Wild Lioness. 😔
Thank you Lisa, then you received it as I meant it to be received. Sometimes, it is not the time for glossing over.
There is much to worry about right now. So grateful that you are writing all of this.
I write what is in my heart an moves me. I might not life it day to day up close and personal, yet believe me when I say what I cope with every day for the last 55 years, what my body has internalized, lets me feel it as if. Glad to have you beside me on this path. What do you worry most about? Tell me. I‘d like to know.
I worry about my safety as a woman and bisexual human navigating in a patriarchal world where some people see me as an object or something to be dismissed, or condescended to. I worry that I am a deep thinker and have big conversations sometimes, that could make me a target by some. Just as so many can be targeted for their beliefs, ideas, different opinions at this time, and really, at any time. I worry about freedom being taken away from us that has been so hard won. I worry about libraries, writers, people without access to resources or health care. People sleeping in tents in winter in my town. I worry about animals, and young people (including my children and step children) dealing with rising costs and little pay. I worry that there might be no world to hand down to future generations. I worry about entering middle age, navigating health stuff , and no ability to retire in sight. I worry I won't have enough energy to meet my obligations in a week. I worry about whether I have made the best decisions, and done everything I could for those I love, and for those I spend time with, and heck, for myself too. I worry that my country may be invaded, that even within my country, there is alot of anger and far right views surfacing. And that the disinformation is fueling it. And I worry about getting a good night's sleep. Wow. That's alot. You're probably sorry you asked. Still not a complete list! Cheers and thank you ! 🙏🌎☕️🫶 good night
Not sorry I asked at all.
Not even a little.
I'm grateful you trusted me with this.
Every word you wrote is the echo of a world too many of us are trying to carry without dropping the pieces. You named it so clearly—what it means to walk through this life as someone who thinks deeply, feels fully, and still chooses to care despite the cost.
I hear you. All of it. The fear, the exhaustion, the wondering if you've done enough—for others, for yourself. The ache of being objectified, dismissed, made to feel too much just for being present, awake, real. I know those rooms. I’ve stood in them, too.
You’re not alone in these worries.
They’re heavy because they matter. Because you matter. And because you're still here, speaking, even while the world feels like it’s fraying at the seams.
I don’t have all the answers, and I believe in naming things. In witnessing. In refusing to look away. And in holding space—like this one—for each other.
So no, that wasn’t too much. That was, is human. That was you being brave enough to say what so many carry in silence.
Thank you for being here. Thank you for being. I’m walking beside you.
☕🫶🔥🌎
With care,
Jay
Thank you for holding space! I agree we must keep naming things, witnessing, and refusing to look away. The world does feel like it's fraying at the seams. Thanks for the encouragement and have a lovely day!🪻
That means a lot. Really.
Naming things doesn’t make the world less frayed, but it does make it feel less lonely. And sometimes that’s enough to keep going. I believe in that—this quiet, steady refusal to look away. To keep showing up, even when everything in us aches.
So thank you for being part of that. For echoing back what matters.
I hope today gives you space to breathe, to feel held in some small, unexpected way. We’re in this together.
With care,
Jay
Wow, so powerful, Jay! I was very moved by these poems. Chilling and important reflections of what is happening in our world today.
Thank you Amy. I truly appreciate your comment and am grateful that my words found resonance.
Thank you for the mention!
I'm still trying to articulate my befuddled, baffled, terrified reaction to America in the spring of 2025. The fear that they want us all to feel has scrambled my vocabulary. The part of me that's still hiding from the realness of this reality has to come out and speak. It gives me strength to see others who have not been knocked senseless by the "shock and awe" - a phrase that dates back to the invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq in the first few years of this century. I'm from San Francisco, too, yet I can't pretend we're safe here. If they will threaten an institution like Harvard, they will threaten the state universities like Berkeley and UCSF. Thank you for sharing this.
Dear Mesila,
I might live in Germany now, but I know how it is.
I know what it means to survive in a system that tries to erase you—not just politically, but personally. I lived 47 years under the authoritarian white-slavery regime of my mother. I was ostracized by society since I was three. That kind of trauma doesn't end—it echoes. It teaches you how to read the warning signs before others want to admit they’re real.
What’s happening in America is not unfamiliar to me. It's a continuation of histories people prefer to call past. But we know better. We know the signs because we’ve lived them in bodies that weren’t allowed to exist peacefully.
So yes, they want us to be afraid.
But we’ve already learned how to survive fear.
Now we’re learning how to speak through it.
And I’m grateful to know that others—like you—are doing the same.
In solidarity,
Jay
🖤⧖ From the other side of the ocean, but right beside you.