Last year, when my menstruating was still regular and there was a blood drive at my high school, I couldn't donate because I was anemic. That had happened a couple times before. Heavy flow, not eating enough because of horrible cramps and nausea, I'd lose weight and become an iron lacking zombie with deep circles under his eyes.
Before that, the blood drive, in March when I was at Kerr, I was on my period. That was hell. But, when that stopped, I didn't bleed for a whole year after that. Which of course wasn't good, but I couldn't be bothered to give a **** because it felt so freeing not to have the monthly blood loss and dysphoria hanging over me. I'm never going to have children. At least, not of my own flesh and blood.
My woman's body may be fertile, able to sustain life, but my ****** will remain a barren thing.
And now, I bleed again for the second time this year. My body healed itself of what ever was ailing it, and I am stuck on the couch because it hurts to move and slouching to the side is the only position that will lessen the cramps.
But, the bleeding is slowing and the cramps only come in the morning and at night.
The whole ordeal makes me feel so much older than my almost nineteen years, though.
And it is a terrifying thing to be able to feel myself bleeding, but not being able to stop it.
It comes and goes of its own accord, leaving me sitting in front of the dryer and willing the old machine to go faster because I'm wearing the boxers I slept in last night and I want to shower.
Want to clean myself of the blood, dried and matted in my hair and on my thighs.
I want to listen to loud music while the water turns pink and finally goes back to clear.
I want to clean myself of the shame of not wanting to bear children with my perfectly healthy woman's body.
And instead revel in the freedom I will one day have from this fleshy prison.
Where there will be no more blood, and a scar on my stomach the only sign that I once was able to bring a new life into this world.
And I will not be ashamed.

thinking back
to the so many versions of me
my younger selves
would they be afraid of me now
would they wonder what had happened
what would they think of the scars
on my left arm and shoulder
deep enough that the slices didn’t bleed
right away but slowly filled up and spilled over
and the metal in my face
the dark purple hollows under my eyes
and the sneer on my lips
the bitten skin and the splits that
tear and sting whenever i speak
would they try to stop the shaking of my hands
wrap duct tape around my dull fingertips
so that i will at least be able to salvage some nail
and what would they think
when i told them about the time that
i bruised my knuckles against my
own skull
trying to get the voices to shut up
but all i got was a headache
and fingers that hurt when i unclenched them
would they try to massage a feeling that
wasn’t pain back into my jaw
or would they stay away
because i can be scary
i guess
and my anger and depression
has become a palpable thing
but i don’t mean it to be
i would peel away my walls
of barbed wire and broken promises and hearts
and i would bare it all for them
i really would
because i want to show them
that i am still here
i am still going
i still wake up every morning
and even on days when i have to force myself
to go through the motions
i still do it
for them
for my past selves
and my future selves
but without my past selves
the younger versions of me
with their clothes smelling of ****
and alcohol and so many days of dried blood
i would not have made it
and god i am so sorry i tried to destroy them
but i promise i will keep them safe now
lock them up in a box inside myself
nothing will hurt them anymore
i will be who they needed
way back when
and i will do my best
to keep on going
even though it hurts
more often than not
i will keep going
i promise i will
i will make you proud
you of the skinned knees
and untied shoes
the barefoot romps
through grassy fields
and the first time someone else made your nose bleed
i will be there
i will make you proud
i promise
and maybe when we meet again someday
you will come closer
and you will not be afraid of
what you have become

you say fifty people
I SAY FIFTY GAY PEOPLE
you say nightclub
I SAY GAY NIGHTCLUB
you say the shooter was mentally ill
I SAY HOW DARE YOU PERPETUATE THE STIGMA
THAT MENTALLY ILL PEOPLE ARE SOMEHOW DANGEROUS
WHEN THERE HAVE BEEN COUNTLESS NEUROTYPICALS
THAT HAVE DONE HORRIBLE THINGS OF THEIR OWN VOLITION
you say this was isis
I SAY HOW DARE YOU CONTINUE TO SUPPORT THIS ISLAMOPHOBIA
THIS WAS THE WORK OF ONE MAN
ONE MAN WITH A GUN
AND NOW FIFTY OF MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS ARE DEAD  
SO I SAY HOW DARE YOU
TRY TO MAKE THIS ANYTHING ELSE THAN WHAT IS OBVIOUSLY IS
THIS WAS A HATE CRIME
AND THE WORST SLAUGHTER
-BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT IT WAS-
IN HUNDREDS OF YEARS
AND IT WAS A HATE CRIME AGAINST THE LGBTQ+ COMMUNITY
SO HOW DARE YOU TRY TO DOWNPLAY THIS
TO A MENTAL ILLNESS AND AN AFFILIATION WITH ISIS
BECAUSE MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS ARE DEAD
AND YOU SAYING well this happens to other people all the time
ERASES THE FACT THAT YES I KNOW THIS HAPPENS TO OTHER PEOPLE
BUT THIS HAPPENED TO GAY PEOPLE
AT A GAY NIGHTCLUB
AND NOW A PLACE THAT SHOULD BE SAFE
FOR MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS
AND FOR ME
IS NO LONGER SAFE
BECAUSE A MAN WITH A GUN DECIDED THAT
SINCE WE ARE DIFFERENT THAN HE IS
WE SHOULD NOT BE ALLOWED TO LIVE

the breathing of the world
is erratic
but for some it has stopped altogether
and i worry
i wonder if it could happen to me
because of course it could
but just the act of thinking that
i could be calling you
texting you frantically
because i have not heard from you
and the phone is just buzzing next to you
but you can’t answer it
baby you can’t pick up the phone
why can’t you pick up the phone
please pick up the phone
good god please answer
is simply too much

and to think that
a fellow human being
would do this to you
my brothers and sisters
is sickening
the world is at war
and it is not on foreign soil
it is right here
in the streets
and the night clubs
where we should be safe ******
because we need safe spaces
for this exact reason
but how safe can it be
when you can’t pick up the phone
baby please pick up the phone

and even though
none of my blood and bone
were there
i feel this deep in my core
a kind of sadness
that makes me cry in coffee shops
rocking back and forth
in front of people that i don’t know
and i can spend hours curled up
in a chair
making myself smaller and smaller
maybe i will disappear altogether
and this will not happen again
but of course it will
it always does

because
the right to carry a gun
out of the spacious locker in
their homes
and into the streets
is more important than your lives

and god i am so sorry
that you have to live among these people
that you
my beautiful wolves and lionesses
have become the hunted
we are not prey
we are not wrong
we are not a sin
and this
being yourselves
and loving who you want to
should not be a death sentence

#prayfororlando

i know that
most days
the cathedral of your body
with all its dips and curves
forgotten staircases
and ripped velvet covers
on the splintered pews
is hard to love

and there are days
where you wish that your
body would have manifested itself
as a palace
made of ivory and bone
with great empty halls
that would host nothing else
but your anguished cries
and empty stomach

but these things
are incapable of filling you up
because it is hard to sustain yourself
on bitterness and past scars alone

so i say to you
my friends
brothers and sisters
my lovers
and those living in the wastelands
of themselves

cast aside these
things for you are not a church
or a palace or a temple

no
you are something
much stronger and vast
grow yourself into a forest

turn all the sleepless nights
and breakdowns and hospital visits
and suicide attempts
and those traintracks of scars
into the great twisting trunks of trees

grow yourself as big and bold
as you need to be
protect yourself
wrap up all your sharp and soft
edges and corners
into the bark of mother nature

become a forest
because
through fire and drought and storm
and flood
the forest always comes back
even the charred remains of trees
stand strong

so
i say to you
with your dark circles
and long sleeves
and chest hidden behind a binder
with all your scars
and imperfections
be a forest
because
a forest is unstoppable
it always comes back
it always grows back

and so will you

the earth warmed up under my feet
steam rising from the ground
swirling upwards in the sun light
like one big exhale
and i noticed that my breath
only came out in a whoosh
no cloud this time
and i wondered briefly if
i hadn’t died
and just forgot about it
but a raindrop fell from a
water-logged plant and landed
on the top of my head
buzzed hair not being much protection
from water of any kind
and i smiled
because i was alive ******
i was alive
and music was playing loud in my ears
i could feel the chill of the wind through my layers
and even though my breath made no cloud
when it left my mouth
i was still breathing
my lungs still expanding
like a flower that had gone too long
without sunlight
and i looked up at the gray sky
the clouds drifting way up above
letting the smells of wet bark dust
and sidewalk and plants and trees
fill my heart and my head with a little
bubble of hope

i left some of myself
behind last night
sitting on the edge of my bed
shaking in a batman tee shirt and boxers
the smell of fear wafted off my skin
and when the razor met my flesh
i was surprised that it did not sizzle
or protest in some way
though i suppose that may have been up to me
but i kept going
scratching until i bled
taking off some hair as well
and i wanted to slice right in the middle of my arm
but i was afraid of bleeding out
because right then
i didn’t want to die
i was just tired