6.7.18

Is my agency stifled by desire

Because my heart is only racing from anxiety

I want to medicate you away

 

I am losing myself in the reflection of your sunglasses

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4.12.18

If you take in a full enough mouth of smoke, you may convince yourself it’s something worth swallowing.

That singed tongue and throat are life-sustaining.

 

Is that not what he told you?

When he blew it into your mouth?

 

You said you weren’t hungry anymore.

You said you were content to die wearing only his perceptions of you, fitted to your cold body like a corset.

(Cinched & pulled)

You said of all of the ways to commit suicide, this was by far the prettiest.

4.6.18 (white cars, late beginnings, and the uncertainly of the tightrope)

The tension evaporates

or collects in droplets,

beading on the leather of my boots

or muddying the ground beneath my feet.

 

Sometimes openness

does not feel like freedom,

and the anticipation framing your face

reads like disappointment.

 

I will collect myself.

Try not to swat or kill anything

before it lands.

Even if that thing scares me.

 

I will write belonging as a fleeting thought,

before the page moistens, limpens, and corrodes.

I think I am meant for an existence,

and am driven to unearth rather than tread above it.

 

But my wrist aches.

I will splint it until tomorrow.

 

 

 

3.21.18

This body — this prison

Confined against my own free will

 

The eyes I catch in the mirror are not my eyes

Do not reflect my sense of being or say what I want them to say

 

I’ve been struggling with the idea of identity

The idea that I need one

That I can’t just live in a symbiotic relationship with my own impermanence

Rather than paint and adorn, everyday attending to this shrine to social acceptance

 

I wonder if the voices in the kitchen sound like my voice

Are we all just taking turns feigning security?

 

I’m questioning how I relate to even myself

(describe a first)

The air was hollow and carried the light scent of disinfectant. There was no clock to watch – they never put clocks in waiting rooms. So I alternated between starting at the tile floor and the bag you had left next to me. You didn’t even take your wallet with you when they called your name. But I sat in reception, thighs sticking to the merciless plastic as my heart bobbed in my chest. Intermittent palpitations reminded me why we were there.

I just kept thinking of your voice and the softness of your skin and how you’d left me there, entrusting me with all of your worldly belongings and the memories of who you were before today. Despite you not even putting me down as an emergency contact.

I was not bitter, I was afraid. When I followed you down the hallway on our way out, I was afraid. I am still trying to differentiate femininity from the female and I’m not sure which quality of your’s I’m mourning.

In the morning, I looked at you, and everything was the same. This morning, I looked at you, and everything was the same.

But I still brace myself, anticipating your disappearance.

2.14.18

I found myself in a basement

In her arms or lap or eyes

Because the others dared me to, or I dared myself to

 

Then her lips were on mine and my heart was all the way up here

Threatening to give me away, to burst from my 12 year old body

 

I’ve heard of many first kisses as memorable and meaningful as rubbing shoulders with a stranger on the train

Mine was more like kicking up from the curb and peddling a bike for the first time without training wheels

 

Never wanting to go back

Only going back when it seemed easier to walk than explain to others how it felt to fly

I am not afraid of love but I find myself afraid of what my love means to others

 

After all of this time

1.23.18

I stopped caring

 

I took the elegance of another age, folded it like a handkerchief, and placed it in my pocket

I didn’t want to wear it, wave it, or make it an indicator of my trajectory

 

I am coming to peace with what I know to be my own

Something that does not look like old yearbook photos or a mirror’s interpretation of physical existence

 

I am molting layers

Like winter and spring shook hands over my body