this morning
as i groggily rolled onto my back
and felt the weight of the blanket draped across my body
i briefly thought you were lying atop me
my face buried in your shoulder
my lips gently pressing against your neck
and then quickly gravitating downwards
repeatedly kissing the spot where your neck and shoulder meet
so as to make you shiver against me
and smile brighter than the morning sun
snuggling against me more
so that i could wrap my arms and lift my legs around you
both of us sleepy but bathed in the morning light

and so i laid there
for two minutes past my alarm
lost in the everlasting euphoria that just the thought of you can bring
wishing that maybe
just maybe
i was only dreaming that you weren't there

and tonight i shall bow at the altar
like a great tree bends in the wind
and scratch my skin

as an offering

to the confidence i lost with my femininity,
to the loved ones i have lost or forgotten,
to stars and the heavens and the seas

my branches will snap and break away
my leaves will crunch underfoot
as i stand and cry out from the pain

until i have bled myself dry

but like all great trees
i will grow again when the storm has passed
wiser and lovelier than ever before

On those days when
your ghosts visit you
before witching hour,
wrapping their familiar
fingers around your
throat, remember:
it's okay to relapse.

As they shove their
fingers down your throat,
you'll find it hard to
breath and even harder
to try and think.

Because the dead
will force you to
remember all the
anxieties that you
grew out of, all
the tendencies that
they inspired in you
that ranged from suicidal
to only worrying too much.

And I'm sorry to say it,
but eventually you will
***** up every single
butterfly they ever gave
you, along with the fond
memories you tried to
keep for a rainy day.

You're going to make one
hell of a mess all over the
present and the immediate
future, and your ghosts will
make sure you can't do
anything else until you break
down in defeat and beg for
their mercy and forgiveness.

And you won't be granted
either of those things, but
they will eventually leave
for purgatory again and you
will be able to think again
and remember that
it's okay to relapse
because your past will
always be a part of you.

I'm sorry that my back broke
when it was suddenly weighed down
by the ******* I no longer want
and that you had to pick up the
pieces of my spine, despite being
the second to know.

I regret that, in the aftermath,
there has been only regression
into my old habit of feeling a strong
itch coursing through my veins
and pulsing beneath my skin,
leaving me with fanciful thoughts
of scratching my skin raw.

But words cannot adequately
describe how badly I want
to figure out how to properly
thank you for being as amazing
as you are, never showing the
slightest hint of disappointment
that I've gotten back into old
habits of thinking far too much,
and holding my hand across the
tightrope of being genderqueer.

There are an infinite number
of ways in which I love you.

i think maybe the reason we mesh so well
is because we both still hold onto the ghosts
of the lovers we lied about forgetting.

however, i think they are still the cowards
for pretending like they moved on long ago
when we are still in each breath they breathe.