LUKAYO.COM

Category: Poetry

  • Throwback Thursday: Self-Portrait

    [Image Description: A black-and-white self-portrait of Lukayo wearing a baseball cap and shirt that is falling off one shoulder to reveal the strap of an under-shirt. They have long hair on one side. Half of their face has facial hair, and the other half is shaved. The drawing has the word “SELF-PORTRAIT” at the top, and their signature in English and basahan/baybayin on the bottom.]

    Self-Portrait (Original 2006; Revised 2018)

    Ako si Lukayo

    And I am searching for the equation in the centre of the dream
    I am unraveling the thread of modern mythological seams

    Sino yan?
    An anti-hero unsung
    Sino yan?
    A faith healer just begun
    Sino yan?

    An ideological disaster blasting capitalism faster
    Than ricocheting bullets from a verbal Gatling gun

    Ako si Lukayo

    I am a construct of your bias, experience, and dreams
    I am a congruence of light and sound that insists I’m heard and seen

    Sino yan?
    Known by many names
    Sino yan?
    Burned by social flames
    Sino yan?

    Your entertainment one-stop, on a soap box with a joke dropped
    Between phrases carved from fire that heal as much as maim

    Ako si Lukayo

    And I am making poetry my temple so that I can be redeemed
    I am a voice, a vision, or an SJW laser beam

    Sino yan?
    An artist just for fun
    Sino yan?
    A trickster on the run
    Sino yan?

    A 33-year old catastrophe, no apathy or atrophy
    But tired of this poem so this intro’s finally done.

    Wanna hear the rest of the poem and get a larger version of the new artwork I drew? Better yet, want to commission me to write a poem and draw something for you? Click on the link to become a patron. For as little as $1/month you can support healing work among my communities, and the indigenous Elders that mentor me.

    https://www.patreon.com/posts/21101395

  • Fresh Friday: Niyog

    Image Description: A black-and-white ink drawing of a coconut tree. The roots of the tree are entwined with a giant humanoid skull and a skeleton of a serpentine creature with wings. The word NIYOG is off-centre, with the “I” being represented by the trunk of the coconut tree. At the top left corner is Lukayo’s signature in English and in basahan/baybayin.

    Niyog

    There was no grave for me to weep over.

    His ashes were ensconced in the home of
    a woman who I had once asked “Who are you?”
    in the waiting room.

    She had said “His mother” but
    his photos and stories told me otherwise.

    I held my tongue,
    the feel of his dying body still imprinted
    in my arms as she took
    his remains away from me

    But what really remains?

    Did Bathala ever ask this,
    weeping over the grave of
    Galang Kaluluwa?

    What is my grief compared
    to a god’s infinite loneliness,
    knowing that the only being
    ze ever loved lies buried
    beside zir enemy?

    I’ve buried no enemies–
    unless you count the faces
    I’ve seen in my mirror,
    past, messy, dangerous selves
    laid to rest
    in the soil of my memories:
    my brutal behaviours
    intertwined with our first date,
    my tantrums and his kisses,
    my terrors and his perseverance;
    from this, our love grew.

    They say Bathala knew immediately
    when, upwards, out of both graves,
    with the winged and serpentine body of zir adversary
    and the round, brown head of zir beloved,
    that a new being had been born
    meant to care for and challenge
    the humans Bathala would create
    to populate the empty Earth
    the same way Galang Kaluluwa
    had cared for Bathala when ze was alive,
    the same way Ulilang Kaluluwa
    had challenged Bathala when ze was alive.

    Sometimes I tell my life’s story
    like a ledger of losses,
    more challenge than care:
    broken childhoods, dysphoric genders,
    stolen tongues, dead lovers…

    I shy away from sympathetic gazes
    — not out of pride, but confusion.

    Can’t they see that it’s the losses which forged me?

    Each a transformation unveiling a new connection.

    My Ancestors’ blood pulsing within.
    Their hands.
    My hands.
    Weaving new legacies.

    The Dead fuel the Living.

    I remember this, always
    when I search for what remains
    of Ulilang Kaluluwa
    and Galang Kaluluwa:
    oil on my tongue,
    incense in my hair,
    wood in my grip.

    Together, their bodies, and
    Bathala’s tears
    created the first
    coconut tree
    to shelter us and feed us
    to remind us in their silence
    that even from the deepest grief,
    even from the starkest death,
    grows life,
    grows the sacred.

    Wanna hear the whole poem and have a larger version of this new artwork that I drew? Better yet, want to commission me to write a poem and draw something for you? Check out the link below and become a patron. For as little as $1/month you can support healing work among my communities, and the indigenous Elders that mentor me.

    https://www.patreon.com/posts/20946725

  • Throwback Thursday: Why I Wear Black

    I had other pieces I wanted to release this week on Thursday and Friday, but due to the death in the Ontario pagan community, I’m moved to post my poems on grief. Consider this your content warning.

    (The original piece was written in the summer of 2009 and called “Slam Noir”. This is the updated 2018 version. The graphic was made using Canva.)

    Why I Wear Black

    Because I’m bored.
    Because I’m weird.
    Because I’m hoping you’ll re-examine your belief systems.
    Because chicks dig it, bro.
    Because it’s my armour.
    Because I like to sweat.
    Because it probably hasn’t occurred to you that in certain cultures this is a symbol of prosperity.
    Because I’m such a rebel.
    Because I’m so sophisticated.
    Because it’s harder to stain.
    Because I’m actually the government and I’ve been sent to monitor your activities very, very closely… we’re watching you, Mr. Anderson.
    Because it makes me feel sexy.
    Because I feel angry and depressed.
    Because… Viva la Revolution!
    Because I’m a ninja. Seriously. I’m a ninja, I’m Asian, it all makes sense. I’m dangerous and I’m invisible and I clearly know karate.
    Because it looks good with anything. Especially rainbows.
    Because he broke my heart.
    Because she broke my heart.
    Because they broke my heart.
    Because my heart was broken a long time ago when I was raised to believe I had to be whiter, thinner, and a specific gender to be loved and to be beautiful.
    Because… face it, you don’t give a shit.
    Because I’m a cynical misanthrope.
    Because I want you to think twice about jumping me in the street.
    Because I want to feel powerful without having to dominate.
    Because I want to be closer to my Ancestors.
    Because it’s supposed to hide my imperfections.
    Because, like, y’know, whatever.
    Because I don’t want to contribute to a culture of consumerism by promoting brands that claim to symbolize one set of values while actually championing emotional manipulation and economic exploitation.
    Because everybody hates me.
    Because I want attention. HEY! HEY! Pay attention to ME! Thanks!
    Because I want to be a superhero.
    Because I’m just like everybody else.
    Because he died.
    Because so many have died, and there’s so much injustice in the world that sometimes we forget to live. Well, I want to REMEMBER.
    Because I want to have a choice.
    Because it IS my choice.
    Because your reaction tells me more about YOU than it does about ME.
    Because I’m what you fear.
    Because I’m not anything to be ashamed of.
    Because grief is not anything to be ashamed of.
    Because someone has to mourn the world.

     

    I wear it for the sick and lonely old
    For the reckless ones whose bad trip left them cold
    I wear the black in mourning for the lives that could have been
    – Johnny Cash, “Man In Black”

    —

    Wanna hear the rest of the poem? Click on the link to become a patron. For as little as $1/month you can support healing work among my communities, and the indigenous Elders that mentor me.

    https://www.patreon.com/posts/throwback-why-i-20931783

  • Throwback Thursday: Confessional

    Note: The original was written in 2006 but this is the updated 2018 version.

    Content warning: gender dysphoria, cisgenderism, allusion to sexual assault

    This room is my confessional
    And you are all my witnesses
    That I am afraid – I am fucking terrified
    To be…a woman
    That I am terrified
    I’ll never be a good enough man

    And we are born into this world with certain roles laid out for us
    M
    We are born into this world with certain roles laid out for us
    F

    And they tell me, “There’s nothing to fear, lil kid,
    You just ARE a woman.
    You just ARE a man.”

    But they are lying through their toothy smiles
    Their eyes undressing and oppressing me
    Because if it’s all about just BEING a gender
    Then how come I can BE a gender so BADLY?
    How come everything I do and say
    Is not macho enough or some lady-like way?

    —

    Wanna read the rest of the poem and watch the Youtube video performance? Click on the link to become a patron. For as little as $1/month you can support healing work among my communities, and the indigenous Elders that mentor me.

    https://www.patreon.com/posts/20809402

The site will be down Friday, June 12th from 8pm until Midnight EST for webhost transfer and maintenance.

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