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Petra Jun 2022
The thing about art is your brain has to be clear enough for you to spin your pain into fabric that is processable by the public. Sometimes cobwebs crowd us too much to be able to turn our ideas into anything.
Petra Apr 2022
Let me decay into this garden.
Leave me slouching on the bench.
I'll blend into the roses after a while -
That’s all my body is good for this year.

I'll nourish Earth as it has nourished us all
With our deep red blood and water-logged skin.
Leave me in peace, please give me silence.
Here, I can be sedentary in solitude;
Blend into the ground;
Feed the worms and heal the trees.

Don’t feed me anything more.
Don’t cover me with clothing.
Don’t sustain my slouching frame.
Just let me wane in the wilderness
Where my skin is cold in the dampness
But heated by the melty sun that will soon be sleeping.

This mound is where I want to sit
Exactly as I am.
If I am going to die, I will die in this grass
With a bench below my thighs
And my toes gracing whatever green
Grows beneath them.

Let me fly, when the sun finally sets.
When the orange pool goes away
Is when I shall decay for a better place
Where my spirit has no knots or tangles,
Where strands of DNA unfurrow,
And every skin cell slips into the sludge that is rest,
And I can stretch my sentiments out on a cotton cloth,
Dye the fabric with my natural colors,
And that is all that's left of me in your world.

Like flowers drying on brick steps laid next to a trickling stream
Is how I leave the earthlings behind;
The creatures that constitute the land we run through,
Like ribbons of bliss that always fight for oxygen
Then drop like dead flies falling from diminished clouds,
Like a clump of rain that slaps your skin to remind you that
Pain is a part of being.

Bugs will bite. Splinters will sting.
Knives will cut. Skin always splits.

But when you sit under rose thorns and
Accept that your blood is as red as their fruit’s petals,
You will see we all bleed and our blood is sweet for a reason, and
Roses smell heavenly for good reason.
Petra Feb 2022
Sitting on my bed waiting for the depression to hit because I know the mania is wearing off
Petra Dec 2021
My grandparents gave me a holiday card.
My grandfather wrote in it, "stay young as long as possible so we can watch you grow for a little longer."
In the card, they put a $20 bill for me to keep.

How ironic that they tell me to stay young then hand me the social construct of deconstruction; of internal combustion.
Part of being young is not understanding social constructs, like money, class, privilege.
Please don't hand me money if you want me to stay the way I am.

I truly do want to stay young, though. I want to stay oblivious.
It's hard when you hand me the world's struggle in the form of paper and tell me to stay happier for longer so you may have the privilege of watching my joy and be delighted for it.

Petra Dec 2021
I just realized: I am in mourning. I am mourning the loss of my life right now.
A trans man posted that he was mourning the loss of the boyhood that he never had.
I am mourning the loss of a gender-free childhood I never had. I am mourning that I have to cover who I am. I mourn what I could have but don’t. I mourn.
I have lost so much time. For almost a year I have known I am genderqueer, but have kept silent at home. I am mourning what I could have had if the world had been easier; if the world had been kinder, gentler to me. If only the world could show love.
I feel my identity is unloved in my home. I feel it is highly politicized, dehumanized, unreal, not palpable in the air which we all breathe at the dinner table together.
I AM REAL I shout! See me for I am so real. Hear and feel me for my skin is true, my mind is true; I am real and I sit here with you.
I am mourning the loss of a childhood I never had. I mourn the loss of kindness I never had.
Please be kind. I promise I will always be kind.

In my arms, my dear child, you are not a political piece, you are not a distant figure - distant yet still held so closely in my arms and cradled like a child. There will be none of that. You are simply one whom I love, and I am yours in return.
Please love me for who I am. I am only human, I can only take so much.
I don't want to be your figure, I want to be your child. There is such a big difference.
Petra Oct 2021
I believe
that limiting emotional expression
is unhealthy.
Petra Jul 2021
Why should I have to prove myself to you?

I told you who I am and you still don't believe me.
I told you everything you asked, yet you still can't perceive me.
I tried my hardest to explain, my hardest to remain
Calm in front of you, to compensate for the truth.

The fact of the matter is that you still don't get it
Because straight people don't see things that aren't to their benefit.
I could shoot you down with my intelligent wit,
Describe to you my complex social fit,
But there's nothing that I could truly admit
To get you to care about me.

You will never understand who I am.
I am one who is neither a woman nor man.
I run from a box into which people cram
Themselves for no **** reason.
That box, to me, feels like treason.

If you only could open your ears,
If I could help you to pause all your fears,  
You could start to dim all those dark years
Where I cried over frustration;
Hanging myself from contemplation

Over whether you would still love me the same;
Whether I would still be there for you to love.

That terror has leaked into my mind.
That terror sits steeped within my eye.
It's permanently written in big and black ink
Etched up and down my spine.

Love me for who I am.
Don't push me away because you can't understand.
Please, don't push me away because you can't understand.
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