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 Feb 2013 Maddy Tidrick
M W
All I can see
is what is wrong
with me.
-------------------------------------------------------------­-----------------
I wish I had my paintbrushes
nearly empty plastic paint pints
the gold is a dribble
the yellow has dried...
and cracked...
as if the sun has withered
and left the plants to die.

But the life,
dark forest green is growing
midnight blue flowing
out the top onto paint-glued wood.

I want to paint a landscape,
I want to paint the rain
I want to paint the moon
captured gleaming silver with slivers of cyan.
I want to paint my pain
rid it from my body
free it from my eyes.
You have to read it a certain way or else the end sounds like it needs more. But read a specific way to the right tempo, it ends freeing.
Nothing dies, it bursts to birth
Before the requiem is half done,
Before the suitable tears are shed
Or the mourning of the underbred
Nags out its course, the death is dead.

The sighs shoot into the long trombone
It blows so hard it shakes the earth.
The flowers in a breathless rush break through;
If one has collapsed, then out spring two,
Insatiable for things to do.

It is unnecessary to atone
For sin: he is the losing one;
With all his conjuror's cheap disguise
No geese fly north because of his lies
No cause is lost, and nothing dies.
last time we spoke in person
you kissed a fogged up bus window
because you were sad.

the day was cold and gray and wet.
we were cold and gray and wet.
the bus had a blowout, there was smoke everywhere,
we pulled over.
everyone freaked out,
but we just sat there.
you were in front of me,
i was behind you,
texting each other, because we couldn't talk in person,
ever.
i had decided i was mad at you.
why was i mad, and not sad?
you had decided to make my mistake
of wanting something you just can't have.
why were you sad, and not mad?

the bus pressed onward on three wheels and a doughnut-
a wheel you want to think is there, but isn't.
and when we made it to the restaurant,
i sat alone,
and you sat alone
with friends you kept from inviting me over,
and you left
and they left
and i left.

the bus doughnutted it's way to some ****** play,
i sat on the far left,
you sat on the far right,
and they left,
and you left,
and i left.

we were waiting on something,
so you typed "hey"
and i typed "what"
and you asked me what i thought
and i said there was only one way it could have been worse.
and you asked what
but i didn't answer.

the bus doughtnutted it's way down the twisting, turning, hateful road that leads to my hometown where i can hardly pass a crack in the pavement without a painful memory, like a ****, sprouting up.

it was cold and gray and wet that day;
the bus window was foggy.
you drew a heart and scribbled initials inside.

T.M.
+
A.F.

you kissed a fogged up bus window
because you were sad.

i drew a heart and scribbled initials inside,
of course you couldn't see me
(i was behind you)

V.T.
+
A.F.

i kissed a fogged up bus window
because i was sad
and wished you would turn around.
Copyright February 2011 by Victor Thorn
 Feb 2013 Maddy Tidrick
Max
one day i was talking to my little sister.
she asks me if i was ever depressed.
i tell her yes.
her eyes widen and her lips are mouthing 'why?'
'babe, i'm transgender.'
'is that it?'
so i begin to explain to her the things i feel.
i tell her how everyday i can't wait to get home
and slice open this body i don't know
with a razor from a convenience store.
i tell her i don't know how to act like
a girl for mom and dad, but apparently
i do a **** good job because they
don't notice i'm not.
i tell her that for fourteen years
i've wanted to cut my hair short
and never have to wear a skirt to church again.
i tell her about the pain and fear of
going into a public bathroom.
i tell her about the looks the kids at school give me
and the shoves from behind
about the **** binders and
the locker rooms.
i tell her that i don't know what they
want me to be, and if i can be it.
i tell her all i want is to be called 'he'
and feel like they mean it.

she pauses and gives me a look that says
even though she's too young to understand,
she does.
'i've always wanted a brother.'
 Feb 2013 Maddy Tidrick
Max
I gave my identity to a man
who stabbed me with it.
I gave my identity to my friends
who tore it up into little pieces
to show everyone.
I gave my identity to my mother
who would not touch it.
Every time I would give it away
I would find it crushed
and beaten.
So now I never give it away.
I stay invisible, that's my goal,
and I'm pretty **** good at it.
I just like to think

That years

Years from this point

(Not to confused with

Years ago)

From now when my skin

Has come to change

And wrinkles around

My eyes

That I will have found

The girl I am meant

To love.

I will be content to know

That the love seeking time

(The time I take to worry

and tap my teeth

in nervousness)

Is over

And that’s just that.

I will have started something new with you.
Using my ten most used words.
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