DAMN THE PROOF by Tracie Nichols

One morning a few weeks ago everything I read felt like an assault to me...

There were thoughtless, strident voices shouting narrow-minded opinions, condemning dissenting voices, and venting outrage. Women had forgotten their place. Black people were claiming their lives mattered. Impoverished people thinking they should have a way out of poverty. People claiming this planet was more than a resource to be plundered. 

It felt like the “isms” were winning by their sheer volume, and I felt my optimism and compassion faltering. So, I let the words spill out...

Damn the Proof 

by Tracie Nichols

i'm not a shouter

or a marcher

more

gentle anarchist

motherly revolutionary

despite my 

steadfastness

there are days I

think the

"-isms" are winning

days I

wake up

to find

someone 

has filled 

my pericardium with

molten lead

and encased all

but my eyes 

in concrete

"the better to 

feel helpless, my dear"

does it matter that

for nearly 40 years

i've assaulted 

barricaded minds

with 

kindness?

flung compassion

two-fisted

over their walls?

launched shockwaves

of conditionless 

love?

does it matter?

is there proof

ragelessness 

is working?

is proof the point?

on days when

"-isms" are snarling

tearing at the throat

of my kindness

sometimes

I feel Boudicca-like

on days when 

I fantasize

razing the city 

and 

massacring

minds that

hate

on days when

my kindness

flinches

in the face

of incoherent

pain

on those days

on those days

on those days

when I return a smile

anyway

when I reach out 

with love

anyway

when I listen

deeply,

nonjugementally

anyway

on those days

I don’t give a 

damn about

proof

on those days

I simply know

that my heart

will always

speak louder

than my hate.

(Find more of Tracie's poetry in our new book! Just click here) 

Tracie Nichols has written poetry since she was 11 years old. While most of her early works are gone (this is probably a good thing) she continues to scribble poems at odd hours about everything from the state of her soul to the sounds of her kitchen. In truth, though, her poetic heart belongs to the deep green places of our wildly, fiercely, sacred, earth. When she isn’t making poetry with words she’s listening to the whispers of the green world, making alchemy with plants and stones and moonlight wildness. Tracie blogs, shares resources and generally nurtures at her website here. Connect with her also on Twitter or Facebook. 

~If you are interested in seeing your poetry appear in this blog, or submitting a poem by a woman that has inspired you, please click here for submission guidelines. I greatly look forward to hearing from you!~