You look at me the same way that I look at my favorite book.
I know every notch, every fold in every page.
I can read it over and over countless times,
yet still find some nuance, some foreshadowing, some miniscule detail that I still didn't catch the 18th read through.

It's been so long since I've felt whole that I forgot what pieces of me looked like until you held them in your hand exclaiming "You're so beautiful!" when all I've ever heard was "You're such a broken ******* mess".. and then the scared little girl in me remembered how to breathe.

when people waste my ******* time
when people don't believe that I am latin
when people say I shouldn't have cut my hair
when people use my mental illnesses as a way to push me lower and question my ******* capabilities- I can still be a mechanical engineer with PTSD, thank you very ******* much,
when people have the audacity to say anything about my parents
when people doubt me based on the things that have happened to me instead of the things I have done
when ex boyfriends call you a **** after you left them for being abusive *******, because they don't think they were an abusive *******
when that same ex blames you for every ****** thing he does after you leave him, because somehow he's no longer responsible for his own actions
when people are racist and have absolutely no reason to be- you can't have a good reason to be racist if you come from an all white town Kevin, to be fair though, there is no good reason to be racist
when I get discluded from the ethnic narrative because my skin paled out as an adult
when I say "I like your hair." to a black woman and she thinks I'm an ignorant white ***** because she won't talk to me long enough to know that I too, have curly hair and enjoy talking about it with other women
when people assume that I cannot be beautiful without my "gorgeous curls" even though those same ******* teased me for my frizzy nest of hair my entire life
when I would straighten my hair and people would ask if I was mixed with asian but then would doubt me when I said "Nope, latin."
when I say that I am queer, but get "but you have a boyfriend though?" as if a bisexual person cannot date a person of the opposite gender
when people say that I will regret my tattoos, not knowing that most of my tattoos are to cover the regret of cutting scars
when people don't understand why I am frustrated
when people say my skin is too white
having a concussion when all I want to do is dance to get all of this ****** frustration out
I could go on and on
but basically, all of my anger stems from human interactions.
but then I get called a ***** for wanting to keep to myself.
First off,
I'm just trying to be happy.

I am over this "happiness is a mindset"-"find a love that makes you forget you were ever depressed"-"medication changes your personality"-"just think happy thoughts"-"have you tried yoga?" *******.
Nowadays, everyone has self diagnosed depression- and won't shut up about it.
And now when I say "I've had manic-depression and was diagnosed with it when I was 9." what most people think I mean was "I need attention, and I have to be like everybody else."- tumblr is my life- *******.
Happiness is a mindset that I was never wired to have, and I am not in control of changing the programming from the inside. I cannot forget that I was ever depressed, when I have known depression since I took my first breath of fresh air out of the womb- as if it's woven into the very fabric of my skin- and I know my skin about as well as I know myself and I've been stuck with both my entire life- an invisible twin that I never ******* asked for. Sure, medication changes my personality-. It makes me function like a normal human being, instead of one that wants to swallow all of those pills and stop breathing- for no reason other than a lack of the same chemicals you can find in that pill that I take into my mouth and swallow every day as if it is my soul that I am swallowing, and not a chalky, white tablet. I cannot think happy thoughts when that it a language that I do not speak and no matter how I have tried to learn, I just can't seem to get the grammatical structure correct- don't even get me started about conjugating verbs because my depression prevents me from doing a ******* thing anyways. I cannot just do some ******* yoga, because all that does is make my body stronger- it cannot alter and rewire my brain to suddenly do something it's never done, and I cannot begin to tell you all of the ways my therapist and I have tried to figure out a way to wave a magical ******* wand and suddenly I'm cured, and how my therapist definitely is not a ******* fairy, and my psychiatrist is really just my potions master, how I've been on **** near every kind of pill, how those pills have kept me alive, how if I miss even one dose, suddenly I imagine how jumping off of a building is the exact way that I want to end this agony- but with no reason to jump, nothing pushing me. Except maybe the fact that having manic depression, gives me more depression- like a never ending plant that just is.. always in ******* season, and boy do I have some ******* allergies.
I cannot begin to tell you how it felt to be 9 years old when my father sat me down and asked me point blank "Honey- you look sad, all the time. Why are you sad?" and bursting into tears like a water fountain bursting a pipe and saying "Daddy, I don't know. I just am. I always am."

take the bus you say, as if it's completely safe and harmless.
and not the highest level of anxiety inducing for me
as if I've never had to reach into my purse and find something hard or pointy to grip in my hand if need be
as if I've never had to scramble to find the answer to "Where ya boyfriend at?" that would actually work and get the guy to leave me alone and stop asking that ****** question
I would take the bus to my beauty school
which meant that all before 7 am, I had to have my face beat to the Gods- as a school requirement.
make up at 7 am is like a golden cheekbone flashing signal for
"keep talking, try to pick me up, when I say I'm taken, I really mean try harder."
I had to walk through the ghetto, as a tiny, make up and fancy clothing clad woman- to get to the bus stop, get on that bus, get to the transfer spot- transfer buses, and then finally get to my destination.
When really it was keep my head down, hood up so no one sees me, get to the bus station, get on the bus, say "I have a boyfriend." at least 10 times, try to make myself small when the questioner sits next to me, breathe a sigh of relief when my transfer spot comes up, only to swallow it when I walk on the next bus, repeat and then finally get to my **** drop off point and walk as fast as I ******* can into the school.
Every ******* day.
So don't you tell me to just take the **** bus if there is another option.
I would sooner shell out cash for gas than ever have to answer "Where is your boyfriend?"
Well *****- I am my own ******* boyfriend. He's right here. He knows how to throw a punch, he can handle himself, he doesn't take **** from no one.
But he's still weaker than most guys.
And for that- my boyfriend is in my pocket, small, barely noticeable and I'll just answer- he's at work, or he's at home, or I'm meeting up with him, and hope to God that you respect the idea of a man more than you respect me.

I greet 2 am tumultuously
my leg aches with pain
while my soul aches to dance
to be free
without constraint
without restraint
just wild
I have class at 9am
but I don't even want to sleep
I just want to dance
all I've ever wanted was to dance.

a dress
a skirt
pink lipstick
that never felt quite like me
baggy pants
baseball cap
dirt and roughhousing
that wasn't quite me either
I was ugly
or at least everyone told me I was
I was too masculine acting
sometimes feminine features
my chest was too flat to be a real girl
my walk was too swagger infused
my fashion style, too--- not enough cleavage if you know what I mean
apparently a shirt and a pair of pants suddenly made me unattractive to both sexes
both sexes
both
I felt like both
makeup and a baseball cap
flat chest, and a flower skirt
skateboards and hair products galore
looking back,
I was always fluid.
the gender waters in which I was drowing
I was only drowning in because I can swim in both currents
fluid
fluid
fluid
****
Living
Under
Imposed
Doctrines