it’s warm inside. stew simmers on the stove
i walked the dog in the snow and he shivered in his sweater
inside now he lies on the floor, ears perked up
comes over to see me
lies down at my feet.
off in the kitchen, the radio talks
voices drifting in from afar
with grave news
so many graves these days
suicide bombers in Kabul
blowing up buildings with the strength of their rage.
serial killer in seattle
planting bodies in flowerbeds like seeds
from which nothing but tears will grow.
the radio’s voice is calm but heavy
with all the tragedy it brings.
here it is warm, safe, happy,
and in through the cracks streams the news
like polluted water.
it floods if you let too much in.
the rising water is hard to ignore.
and inside i’m warm.
inside these walls i am
happy. safe. well-fed.
how can i live so well
when the blood seeps in through the cracks across
the world.
i want to give them all a home. every teenage refugee,
every baby, every mother,
every father.
i hope that somewhere
other side of the Veil,
everyone killed by terror
has a bed. a warm meal.
and maybe a dog.
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 7:59 PM UTC
1. you must walk slowly
with deliberate steps
or else run as fast as you can
you must not remind yourself of your body
all its inconvenient parts that make your inconvenient stomach hurt
or else you must push that inconvenient body fast enough far enough hard enough
that the only thing you know at the end is what your body can do.
2. be careful
don't tell anyone
except everyone
that you'll never meet offline
the hints might fall out
in the way you wear your hair
in the air
all around you
but no one wants to believe it unless you make them
so until then you're just strange
in small ways
angry at strange things-
being called pretty, being made to wear certain clothes,
the way you body workslooksfeels-
no one will want to see it unless you lay it all out, though
3. try not to fall
i know it's hard
hiding in plain sight no one can help you
but don't jump
because you might change your mind
too late to avoid the sick thump
of your body on the pavement, your soul left behind
and that'll be all it is, a body, not you
and you'll never get to change
or grow
or let anyone know you
at all
Dec 12, 2017
Dec 12, 2017 at 10:22 AM UTC
pittapittapittapittapittapittapittapittapittapittapittapitta
the water thunders down like rain but directed at your body
and your body alone
in the dark and nothing seems to exist
outside of this small curtained room and its thumping spray.
the only room in the house that’s fully dark
so private you can hide from even your own body
(except for a quick swipe of a washcloth but then that’s done)
see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing but the water in the dark
and you can almost feel the dark
but just like the
sunglasses in the kitchen and the
torn-up-pieced-together shirts and the
sarcasm and the
chafing feeling of your assigned gender and the
million little ways you’d be different if you could
He says no. shower upstairs
don’t turn the lights off
tell me what you think but
don’t think anything i can’t understand
you’re a beautiful young woman
be the little girl i love
don’t change don’t leave don’t shower in the dark don’t make me
worry.
pittapittapittapittapittapittapittapittapittapittapittapitta
the water thundered down and the dark liquified
your skin until you could barely feel
where it ended and you began.
turning on the light when you get out, it’s a harsher transition than you’d like
but for now all you can do is get through.
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 11:01 PM UTC
baby butch in the bathroom, splotched with shaving cream
using dad's razor to shave what's barely even there on their jaw
baby butch in the bathroom, shirt off and defiant
(though alone who's there to see it)
(them that's who)
washing his feet and their armpits and her face
baby butch on the sidewalk, leather jacket wrapped around them/him, internal bravado daring everyone
not to look at him/them
baby butch in the hallway at school, laughing loud and pitching voice low
no one can know
but why not act how you want to
baby butch in the classroom, slouching in their seat, knees braced against opposite legs of the desk
carefully lazy
legs so tense
baby butch on the internet
finally telling
saying CALL ME THIS CALL ME THEY CALL ME HE
AND THEN CALL ME YOURS
she did. he is.
it's too soon. but he is.
baby butch in the background, scrawling out words
they. he. xavier. baby butch. king ****
alive.
alive.
alive and living.
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 10:59 PM UTC
my body says "i am doing
the best i can"
my brain accuses
"but why aren't you better?"
the scar tissue in my skin murmurs
"i am healing, this is a sign that we are not broken, not dead, not helpless"
my brain screams back
"but why do you show the signs that we once thought we were!
why are we healing and not healed"
my brain refuses to stop picking open the scabs
again.
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 9:43 AM UTC
i'm just kinda lost-feeling
broken, sad, third-wheeling
i feel hollow
food's hard to swallow
and the small blue pills
don't seem to change me.
i was getting better
wrapping myself in sweaters
laughing as much as i could
if i could smile every day i would
i'm scared, i'm stressed,
i hate getting dressed
and none of my last lines rhyme.
i want to disappear
but i don't want to leave
my unwanted body behind
for someone to find
no one needs to see me
hanging from a tree
or dredged out of a lake.
if only i could dissolve.
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 12:13 PM UTC
listen, it'll be okay. it will be ok. it will be okay.
so walk down to the lake
but don't think about walking in
and not walking out.
think instead about mermaids. think about fishes that grant wishes.
maybe don't think about anything but the trees.
i know you're tired
i know you hurt. but don't pick up a blade, or some pills.
go to sleep.
someday you'll wake up feeling better.
until then the trees will whisper soothing breeze across your face
as you sit by the lake.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 7:35 PM UTC
god is dead.
i put him to rest by not believing.
maybe he started the process of creation
maybe he guided evolution
but he's sure as **** not here now.
maybe we should have a funeral.
that's what you do, when people leave
lay them out in a box
pretend they're asleep.
i'm having a funeral in the park tonight.
you should be there.
there'll be a circle of candles
a small raft to set adrift on the dark river
in remembrance
of the time we believed.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 7:34 PM UTC
i am a cloud that's been forced
into a shape and labeled "girl"
and it doesn't. feel. right.
i'm not supposed to be in this body
this soul doesn't fit in any skin
i was a ghost in another life
someday i will be again
i could just be a black cloud
i could just float around whispering
to kids who feel trapped
like i did.
i could enfold them
let them take rest
give them a minute away from this mess.
but i'm stuck
here, and so are the words in my throat.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 7:30 PM UTC
we run like radios, communicating on channels of frequencies
but I’m running on a different frequency and I’m alone in the sea of static
it’s so hard to find anyone’s signal just reach out and call SOS
there’s an in-between channel that isn’t always so hard to reach-
it’s filled with jokes and happiness and we all laugh
with the same vibration
but there are days I search for the channel and the laughter just sounds like static
it’s like something’s wrong with my antenna
but we’re not radios, we’re people and we hear the beats of drums.
I hear a different beat than the rest of you
but not a special one just a mix of many songs
clumsy and too loud and full of contradictions
I twist and run and trip and fall trying to follow the beat
but it’s hard because there’s not one beat there’s thousands
and I listen to a different one every minute
they tell us find your one beat one thing to carry you through life
but I choose a new one to try and save me every week.
we’re people, flesh and blood not stone, but we all try to be marble.
we sand ourselves down into perfect statues carve off all the parts we hate
but when you carve off everything that makes you unique you start to look just like everyone else.
so keep those things. try to accept the pieces you don’t like about yourself
find a beat each day that makes you happy no matter what anyone else thinks
and don’t worry. your radio antenna isn’t broken
someday you’ll find a channel whose signal works more often than not
and on the stormy staticky days when it doesn’t
there’ll be someone to hold you so close you don’t need a signal to reach them.
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 7:56 PM UTC