Until Kirya has the time to write her own introduction to her poems, the following words from her proud uncle will have to do.

I'm not sure when Kirya first started writing poetry, or when she participated in her first poetry slam. I do remember getting news from my siblings up north when Kirya started winning the slams, when she was in high school. I didn't have the pleasure of seeing her perfom until last year, at a Youth Speaks semi-final event at La Peña in Berkeley. Andrea, Lucy, Carlos, Niki, and all her other fans present that night agreed that she should have been one of the finalists, but it was not to be. Nevertheless, Kirya appeared to be quite satisfied with the outcome and not the least bit deterred. She continued to work on new poems, and entered the competition again this year.

On March 20, Kirya's fans took their seats among the crowd at the ODC Theater in San Francisco. Sixteen poets presented in the first round. They were earnest, funny, impassioned, angry, and amazing. Kirya delivered a heartfelt ode to Carlos' father, whom she met only recently at Highland Hospital in Oakland. In round two, the eight remaining poets slammed down some more of their stuff. They were all fantastic, but Kirya captured the night's only perfect score with the poem below. We are all absolutely delighted for Kirya, and couldn't be more excited. Kirya goes on to the final round at the Herbst Theater on April 3. We will be there, rooting for her.

To those of you who haven't been to a poetry slam yet, go. It's much better than a night at at the movies, I promise.

Uncle Kim
March 2004

I am sick
Or at least I think I am; I
Give myself this title to
Maintain my sanity because
Otherwise I'm left
Incapacitated without excuses
I hate my body
Or at least this thing that is inside of it because
I refuse to claim that which gives me so much frustration

I'm numb
Like I swallowed a pin cushion and it's imbedded in the mucus membrane
Just enough so I imagine I can feel it there
Other days it's like I have a carnival in my stomach
I'm on loop on the scrambler while
Pervert carnies play swords with cotton candy sticks

And everything would be alright if I could just rip it out
Rip out my intestines and exchange them for the
Iron stomach of a young German boy raised on bratwurst and ale
I hate it because there really is no easy cure
It's as consistent and predictable as the sun on Groundhog's Day
As a part of me as the microscopic insects that inhabit my epidermis

If I had my way I'd force it out
Shove my hand through my abdomen and
Let go
But it's never going to be like that
Maybe my subconscious it trying to tell me something like
"You need to slow down child
Breathe and let go of your inhibitions
Take some time for yourself
Me first!"
But I get up five hours before I have to leave my house
And I'm still late
Every fucking morning
And I find it counter productive to
Speed through meditation and
Skip meals to do yoga
And I hate it because all I ever wanted to do was sleep
And all I've ever wanted to do was everything
And I can't do anything because I let it control me
And I don't know how to handle it any other way

I'm afraid to get better because that might just mean that
I stop caring that I feel like shit all the time
And maybe I'm a hypochondriac
But it's only because I have higher expectations of what good should feel like
I shouldn't have to live like this
I'm nineteen years old I'm a poet student activist
And for the first time since I was the only girl in the school yard without
Beads in my braids I actually think I'm beautiful
And it's wasted on the bathroom mirror and the toilet bowl

And I hate it because I can't talk about because
It's not cancer or heart disease
And people won't think I'm brave for enduring it
They'll just think I'm disgusting, or
I think I'm disgusting
And I've wasted so much time
Trying to come up with beautiful metaphors for something
So ugly
Just so I could write an angry poem about it and
Not get embarrassed

Maybe I'm Dr. Jeckle and
This is my Ms. Hyde my
Twisted Freudian id taking control because I'm too weak
I'm punishing myself
Making myself sick so I can miss work and school
And political events and poetry
And dates and parties and
Everything that I think I want to do
Because I don't really want to do it because
I can't handle it

It hate because I can't eat without feeling guilty
And I can't not eat without feeling guilty
And all I want to do is eat chocolate
And I hate it that I might be the only woman in the world
Who's not worried about her weight
And I still have to read package labels for fat content

I hate it because it's hereditary
And so is depression
And anxiety
And addictive behavior
And the last thing I want to do is give this to somebody else
Somebody I love
If I ever learn how to love
Because a long time ago Ru Paul told me
If you don't know how to love yourself
You sure as hell don't know how to love anybody else
And I don't know how to accept myself with these limitations

There was a woman who loved me and I wasted her
Like a candy bar you eat too fast
Like your favorite stuffed animal you throw away
Because you finally think you're too old for it
Only to wake up in the night grasping for it
And now there's a man who loves me
And I don't know what to do with him

I'm tired of making the same mistakes
Tired of fighting with myself
Tired of waking up at six in the morning only to go back to bed at twelve
And I'm tired of apologizing for my discomfort

If I had my way I'd be thanked for showing up
Even if I was an hour late
And no one would ever take it personally because they'd know
If it if really was all about them
I'd have taken them out a long time ago

Even though I used to skip sleep
Watching television from my bed sheets
Just so I wouldn't feel alone
Now it is all I can ask for
I've thrown out all the conventional answers
And yet tonight I am here
Not defeated but hopeful
Because for the first time
I am not ashamed to say
I am sick