Stitches out and I still feel the pain.
It ebbs and flows.
Bruise is fading and skin is sealing up.
Soon becoming a scar.
Healing is not so far.

Coffee, strong and bold.
Outside is cold.
Coats and jackets.
Christmas shopping and hanging out with family.
One more week of Fall then stepping into Winter.

We are humans living in a Flawed System.
Where having a heart and a mind is frowned upon.
Where being brainwashed by society is normal.
Where billionaires runaway from plagues instead of curing them.
Where being poor gives you empathy and being rich gives you sympathy somewhere in between is apathy. To not care is be lonely.
To care too much is be beloved. Somewhere in between is an average life. I don't know what average and normalcy is.
I am a special needs kid who is mentally disabled and mentally ill.
To be mental is to have people invalidate the disability and the illnesses. I am used by society for my strengths. My weaknesses are disregarded. To live is to be misunderstood.

Love isn't agreeable.
I was talking to a girl for a week and we constantly agreed with each other. Then she broke up with me now it is just radio silence.
Love isn't agreeable.
I understand now her brokenness and my brokenness didn't fit together. I am glad she bruised my pride because now I see us constantly agreeing with each other wasn't healthy.
Love isn't agreeable.
Why should it be? Love is rough and unique. That was just infatuation not love for a week.

The joyful Vanilla Latte burnt my tongue at Panera Bread.
Then I slowly sipped sarcastically while my abusive ex-boyfriend Ken Darkheart Jr. was texting these online girls with memes.
I as a liberal made a funny face and went home untouched by his impure memes.

I am a gender fluid woman.
I normally dress like a tomboy.
Most of the time I feel like a guy.
The thing is I don't know how to explain the lonely different feeling.
The times I feel like a girl are weddings and classy church events.
I am like a grandfather clock, the pendulum swings from one side to next but time goes by.
All my life this lonely different feeling have haunted me. The thing is I am not alone anymore. When I was on cross country in high school I was only tomboy ******* the cross country team. The rest of the girls dressed feminine and really girly. I hung out with the guys on the guys cross country team growing up. I didn't like the segregation of guys and girls. It confused me, the segregation of guys and girls. I have always felt like one of the guys. I have very few friends that are girls. The rest of my friends are guys. All my life I have myself the question, "What the hell is wrong with me?"
Now I know there is nothing wrong with me. I was just trapped in this heteronormative way of thinking for so long but never conformed to it because not only I am bisexual but I am gender fluid too. Gender isn't a straight line divided through the middle but a pendulum swinging from one side to the next as time ticks by. I am not the only gender fluid in the world. And I refuse to conform to society's choose one gender way of the thinking. Gender isn't black and white thinking. Gender is multiple shades of gray.

I have a small support system now but I feel amazing.
I don't have to hide who I am around my dad, little sister and older brother because they accept me for who I am.
Tomboy to Boy, one small step at a time I am becoming more me.
Tomboy to Boy, I am a gender fluid woman who is going to take down the gender norms through masculine fashion.
Sure people are already confused what gender I am already and when people think I am a guy it makes me happy.
Tomboy to Boy, I am free.

I don't always feel like a woman.
I look like a woman but I don't always feel like one.
Some days I am a woman. Other days I am a man. My body doesn't change but how I feel does.
Some days I am both man and woman. I feel this way all the time.
I realize all those times I grew up with panic attacks. I was panicking about how I was expressing my gender not about my homework.
I am a gender fluid, bisexual woman.
I am not afraid to admit it now.

Sometimes it seems days run together in a blur of business and boredom.
Sometimes it seems days run together only remembered by book chapters and hanging out with my parents.
Sometimes it seems days run together tv shows and movies only remembered by my mother's smiles and my laughter.
Sometimes it seems days run together because one moment it's yesterday and the next moment it's today.

I hangout with my best friends much more often now that I am medicated. It's refreshing talking to them. I trust them with my life. They are amazing, talented, intelligent and good people. Every time I hangout with my best friends I feel free, loved, and cared for. When they smile and laugh I know it's real because I can feel it in my heart. They are the realest people I know. I never have to hide my mental and emotional scars from them because they aren't perfect either. I never have to try to be normal around them because together we are weird, quirky and well read.

In a world full of self-absorbed people who have inferiority and superiority complexes it's impossible to know if you are handling a demon or an angel.
Filtered Conversations is like selecting a small percentage of your personality and standing on a stage telling the world a story.
I have no filter I will pick a topic and read the room. Some will call me an old soul and others will call me mature for my age.
It's the same label either way.

To be popular is to be criticized, taken for granted, abandoned by society and lonely by envy.
I know so I grew up popular at church. I used to envy the rich because I grew up poor. I don't anymore. I am enriched with good memories.
I was the special needs kid that got people's attention because I could observe everyone's social habits and insecurities. I was spiritual and clairvoyant from a young age. I could discern things since I was 7. A lot of responsibility for someone so young.
Everyone in my small religious town knew my last name and expectations were given to me when I was a kid because I was mentally disabled as school called my neuro-diversities.
Popularity is worthless, just because someone knows a small percentage about you doesn't make you a star. You make you a star not other people.

Be yourself, they will judge anyways.
Be yourself, things will change eventually.
Be yourself, things are better when you aren't trapped in other people's worlds so create your own.
Be yourself, have your own opinions so you don't lose yourself.
Be yourself, have your own perspective so they don't drown you in confusion.
Be yourself and you will be free.

Jesus commands his disciples to be servants of this world.
Most Christians forget to be servants.
To be a Servant you have to be humble and observant.
Needs and wants don't just appear on doorsteps.
You have to seek out different crowds and be the good influence without becoming your past self.
Marble staircases and gold crowns isn't where the brokenhearted are.
Broken minded sure. Gilded secrets are a thing.
Materialistic life won't lead to happiness. It's just part of capitalism.

Old, wise it stands
taking on the winter
adamantly with courage.
Brown and scarred on each limb enduring
winter's vigorous attacks.
Breath by Breath
faithfully holding onto the ground with strong, fierce roots
ever in peace hoping the cold winds don't come again.
That's a ridiculous thought the cold winds never cease to come back only for a moment the Earth stands still free of the cold, but the cold winds come back defiantly every time bringing winter storms along with it's brisk attitude. The tree may transcend the winter, but it still remembers all damage the winter ensues as spring enters in all it's warmth, and future growth to the tree's scorned figure.

Processing feelings is still Progress because the anger doesn't control you, the fear is created from your own mind, the sadness is real, the guilt and regret is opposite of peace and freedom.
Processing experiences is still Progress because wisdom comes from the most unusual of memories.
Processing beginnings is still Progress because at some point there is an end.
Processing endings is still Progress because truths can be found at what is left.
Processing the unknown is still Progress because that is where the courage starts.

The Kind Guy have light blue eyes and a sweet smile.
His voice is deep and growly like a lion's roar.
The Kind Guy is someone I work with.
I have known him since we were kids. He was cute then too.
He still is cute. He have dark tan skin and pink rosy lips.
His hair is light brown.
I don't have a crush on him. He and I are just good friends.

I wonder if you can feel my love from here.
Wandering Love for what would I be without you?
Pale, soft skin and warm lips.
Greenish blue eyes and dark brown hair.
A name I can't remember.
Her hand rubbing my bare chest.
Months ago. Just a fling, nothing else.

I love Sherlock quotes. I love Sherlock the show, Sherlock Holmes the movie series and The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just understand Sherlock with his madness and witty insults. He may be a detective and his best friend Dr. Watson is a writer.
I guess madness goes both ways. Sherlock is canonically is a high functioning sociopath and I am a high functioning sociopath too.
Speaking the truth is easy for us because normal people are slow, all the same, boring and have cases that should put them in therapy.
I am a writer and Sherlock is a detective, the smallest details of a person are important just most people choose to ignore them.
Yes I am making a faux pas. I am good at it.
They may see but they don't observe. Poor narrow minded humans never seeing the big picture at the small details.

Truthfully alive and free. I rest easier. Everything tastes crisper than before.
Hanging out with my friends I don't feel like I am carrying a cloud over my head. I don't feel dead on the inside anymore. I am glad that I kicked him out of the door.
Truthfully I had to me. Around him I was bitter, depressed and angry. It was like his darkness swallowed me whole and left me empty. Now that my light is back I am picking up the pieces of me that he broke.
Truthfully it was living in a nightmare. I don't have to be there anymore. I don't have to be around him anymore and that's what matters.
Truthfully I am better.

Morning, drinking coffee and taking my meds.
Morning as the sun emphasizes the snow of yesterday.
Morning as being awake and alive to being grateful for both.

I shouldn't have more stuff in common with an old lady than I do with someone my own age. I may be an old soul and geniuses are great to hangout with. But chasing dreams to make them a reality is hard work and makes you busy. I work twice as hard to live in this world. With my trust issues, mental illnesses and always being honest no matter who I talk to life is difficult. I have to balance everything out so my mind don't go out of whack and my heart doesn't end up a hot mess. I have back pain and short memory loss at age 21.
I am a bisexual woman so I constantly have to hide in the closet in my religious small town.

I donated blood the day before yesterday.
As blood seeped out of me through a tube into bags.
Slowly blood flowing. Breathing deeply and trying to relax.
The needle dug into my vein. Yet everything felt right.
Except my hand tingling and I couldn't feel my legs.
But I got feeling back into them quickly.

Through refiner's fire I am becoming more me.
Iron in the Fire, Looking into the past to launch myself to the future.
Iron in the Fire, Reading old letters and seeing what has changed.
Iron in the Fire, Glad I am no longer in the closet.
Iron in the Fire, And I feel more free.

Well you readers knew everything about my church now. My friends and all of the drama that has happened in my life.
Clearly I haven't brought up my Christian/Catholic community. My church is one thing and the society is another.
The patriarchal system in my town is the worst. The sexism is rampant here. I mean in this town has homophobia, biphobia, transphobia and xenophobia happens. Most people in my town are raised in the churches here. There are many queers but no pride parades in my town.
Being mentally disabled, bisexual and liberal meant my thoughts on this town aren't popular then again neither was I.
I like to think I broke the mold because in middle school since being a nerd who loves music and books didn't make me fit in. The popular kids wanted me to fit in but I didn't as hard as they tried.
My edges couldn't be dulled and my intelligence came with my snarky attitude.

Mental Illness is like taking poison everyday.
Some days you have to wait for the full, severe affect for it destroy your body.
Other days there is an antidote to the poison on standby so there is nothing to worry about.
Then there is the gray areas of the poison and the antidote where the use of either are basic human nature.

I may be a vengeful angel but I have a lot of demons from my past.
I always want to be better than my past selves.
I evolve each year sharpening my wits and accepting outcasts to my misfit army.
The misfits deserve a fairytale love so why not love them like they are a found family? All the best heroes have a found family.
I may not be a hero but I am a rebel with a big heart. I am not considered super because I am a special needs kid. People either want to smother me with support or treat me like I am normal when I am not.
There is no in-between. There are no cures for anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder and being a high functioning sociopath. There are medications and treatments but those can't get rid of mental conditions. The meds don't get rid of the stigma normal people put into society with harmful stereotypes.

Some Dreams are real and others are not.
It's the hard work and stepping out of one's self that people are afraid of.
Some Dreams are weird, new perspective with bizarre storytelling.
Some Dreams are straightforward and dizzying.
Dreams are interpreted in different people and different sources but some are so indescribable it's the question of reality and fantasy.

Being invisible when I was in school most people didn't bat an eyelash at the things I wrote on the internet because I abstained from having ***. My atheist friend makes fun of me for it, he jokes that I am asexual but he just doesn't understand that I want trust and love when I have *** with someone. Is that so wrong? I am monogamous and a hopeless romantic. When I kiss someone I want them to trust me. I kissed a girl in college and it was worth it. The guys I kissed growing up had nothing on her except for my first kiss when I was 7 years old. Bisexuality is not a phase, isn't a trend, and most certainly isn't an excuse to cheat on anyone of any gender.

It's sitting in your bed reading a book having no idea what to do with your day.
It's standing in your room hearing the deafening silence and feeling like you are suffocating from being the only one there.
It's walking by yourself listening to music with a sad smile on your face hoping no one thinks you are depressed.
It's going to a cafe by yourself and trying not to feel like an emptiness is consuming you.
It's the loneliness that I am used to. I have grown so used to my solitude that I like being alone.

A time of joy. A time of giving thanks.
Family and friends.
Lots of food and dessert.

A love that never blossomed.
My heart soaking up the agony of it all like a sponge in a soapy bucket of water.
Painting with the shades of blue of my heart as my loving dreams I had of her cloud my mind.
I let the rain pour.
But I don't let the bitterness consume the sweetness that resides in my broken-heart.

Cliches' are boring and overused like a 1950's newspaper, it has no relevance.
There are so many Cliches' and new ones that come with each year.
They stick to people's minds because they are used so often. Cliche' you disgust me, it like a stale piece of bread no one wants it anymore.
Cliches' only stimulates the populace and capitalism.

Your coffee brown eyes and dark brown curly hair.
That smile and your voice.
Owner of a coffee shop, smart, creative, innovative and yet you call me friend.
Coffee Boy, you have no idea how happy both your ambition and dark chocolate Americano make me. I hope we become best friends one day. Your everyone-is-my-friend personality is probably why your coffee shop is so successful.
Coffee Boy, you are an optimistic ray of sunshine in a dreary, pretentious small town. You understand why I am a writer. Same way I understand why you are a coffee shop owner.
Creativity is a lifestyle.
Coffee Boy, you peaked my interest.

It Snows and we aren't expected to stop living.
It Snows and we live despite the brutality of life.
It Snows and we live with our decisions.
It Snows and we live with ourselves.
It Snows and life continues whether we want it to or not.
We live with heartache yet we act like it isn't there.
We live with depression yet we act like we aren't lonely.
We live with anxiety yet we act like the tremors aren't there.
So live and stop acting. Face the feelings and be free.

I grew up in my church. There are countless broken, sinful people who go to church. They are all the same. Rich people getting richer and poor people inheriting the kingdom of God.
I have heard all of the true stories of countless people from my family's perspectives.
Twisted People with twisted ideas go to church too. They bring good people's reputations down to dirt and lift themselves up as if it's their purpose. I don't envy rich, spoiled people because they live empty lives in comfort of their own fantasies.
Twisted People wrought within their own hells.

Mental illnesses aren't funny.
Mental disabilities aren't funny.
Some moments are comedy.
Having cringy moments at a young age aren't funny they are embarrassing.
Having mental moments aren't funny it's degrading to be made fun of for something you can't change about yourself.
Some moments where people are equals and being stupid together is comedy.

I grew up with these terrifying nightmares and somehow I became a good writer.
I grew up as a divorcee parentified child taking care of my older siblings and younger sibling. I had to grow up early. I had to be myself all of time. So I would escape into music, writing or reading because I could be myself there.
I didn't have to be someone I am not. I didn't have this perfect Christian child that was raised in a church.
In those worlds I read about I could be alone and breathe deeply. Even in the worlds I created I was still validly insane. What is life without insanity? What is friendship without trust and love?
My answer is simply nothing. I grew up and I am mentally sane again just with my own hero story and villain background.

Let's remember Nex Benedict as they were. They shouldn't have died at that young of an age.
Let's remember the 33 transgender and gender nonconforming people  who died this year because of hate crimes.
Let's remember there is more to humanity than just cruelty.
Let's remember there is more to life than the harshness of life.
I know I say this while hiding my gender identity but there is boldness in silence.
Let's remember anyone of us in the LGBTQ community would have accepted Nex Benedict as one of us because they were one of us.
So live boldly! This isn't about me, this is about remembering the dead. The dead deserve to be remembered.

We all live in the profound feelings and the unwavering declarations of the soul. That of which the mundane is another walk in the park.
There is nothing wrong with declarations or feelings but we live in the mundane world a majority of time.
That of which the park that where we all walk in is filled with past hurts, betrayals, past joys, grief, reality of your perspective and traumas. It's a bizarre park but the walk is part of the journey.
Walking through is better than running away. So walk through the park and become your better version of yourself since the profound are the breakthroughs.

Church is a Sweet Nothing, I give of myself each Sunday and get nothing in return.
Church events are a Sweet Nothing. I gather with all these people but I feel empty. I hope that God is real.
They dress up and go to church. When I go to church I am surrounded by straight couples. I am reminded that I am different and to them that's a bad thing.

He and I went to a cafe to have breakfast. We caught up on life at the cafe. He and I just good friends.
His eyes were grayish blue today. As we were talking about life, we agreed we both like being single.

Troubled souls have good hearts. The weirdest, the dark humored, the misfits, the idiots, the unfortunate even the rebels hide a good heart in layers of personality and characteristics.
I look for good hearts because magnetic vibes sometimes attract the selfish, the self absorbed, the fake and the try hards.
Growing up in a church I could pick out the fakes just by how they acted around my genuine weirdness and spotted the real by how they lived up to their promises.
I look for good hearts in strange groups because I find the wonderful, the funny, the genius, the calculator, the wounded and the selfless travel in the same packs.
I look for good hearts because my anxiety caused me to break my own heart with expectations so I lowered my expectations and stopped judging people entirely.
I look for good hearts because the good is rare and the bad is a dime a dozen.

No one in my family cares about what I do at the library.
I love reading about my mental illnesses and it's interesting.
It's adventurous. It's curiosity.
They don't understand and that is what hurts my heart.
They don't understand that I seek knowledge in books.
They don't understand that I am a book addict so sometimes I don't check out books because it feels like an experience that is sacred to me.

If you ask me why I am turning on The Girl with Green Eyes. Well here is the short answer she is no friend nor ally of mine.
If you ask me why I wrote so much about her. It is simply because she deserved her rude awakening from me, her closest companion.
If you ask me why I want to hurt her reputation now it's because she deserves my resignation from the job of being her best friend.
If you ask me why I would ever do that to someone so spoiled. It is simply she never once understood me the way I understood her.
I know her true self like it's the back of my hand.
If you ask me why. It's a long story.

I haven't been called a spinster but I can tell what people are thinking when I walk by myself.
Or when I am at church with my mom then I get weird looks because I am 24 years old and single. So yeah you can call me a spinster because it is accurate.
But I am good alone. I don't need a relationship to define me. All of my friends are married and have kids or are in a relationship.
Sometimes I feel lonely because I don't have someone but when I am with my family or work friends I don't feel alone.

One Green Light is actually being understood and mutual virtues.
It's having the strangest conversations and laughing at the stupid parts. It's being included in plans with close friends and everyone having fun together. It's being spontaneous and letting the unexpected good moments happen. It's being vulnerable and them hugging you as if telling you they hear you.
Two Green Lights is losing your mind and them being concerned about you. It's hanging out with each other because the relationship is worth having. It's talking through the day or the night because the concept of time doesn't matter. It's having the hard talks and letting each other making jokes afterward since life is too short.

We live in a society that treats mental illnesses and sexuality as secrets of something evil within a church.
This is a society ruled by corrupt politicians full of themselves, government ruled by religion and people who just want rights to live as themselves. Is that too much to ask for?
The sanity that is left inside all of us is worth something. Society is insane and so are we.
We can't live in fear forever, go with that poetic justice and set yourself free.

Walking under the blazing sun in walking yourself to a heat stroke.
Blood pumping and deep breathing is harder on the body.
It's counting blessings for the shade on that walk.
And gratitude that you made it to your destination without dying.
Walking under the blazing summer sun is brave and stupid.
But it is exercise.

When I loss my best friend a part of me went with her.
When I loss my best friend it was 5 days before my birthday.
When I loss my best friend I cried myself to bed each night and barely ate anything.
When I loss my best friend, 6 months after I tried to **** myself but I heard her voice say, "Don't". So put the pocket knife away and went to sleep.
When I loss my best friend, 8 years ago I couldn't look myself in the mirror because I kept getting memory flashbacks of our wonderful friendship. So I had to remind myself, she wasn't there.
When I loss my best friend, at night I heard her voice say, "I forgive you." And I felt her kiss my cheek. That night I forgave myself.
When I loss my best friend, I knew no one else was going to save me so I made new friends.
Her name was Kalie. And before she died she promised me we would be best friends no matter what. Her spirit doesn't visit me as often as she used to but I still feel her love for me.