an ulcer waiting to happen
sits in the metaphorical pit of my stomach
it has been there for years

I feel it in
the shaking of my hands
from medication that made it chronic
and the fidgeting of myself

my feet tap
my knee bounces
and sometimes it is only the
1 2 3 4 of counting my glasses
an earring in each ear
and my septum piercing
that keeps me sane

but that is often not enough
these movements do not quiet
the urges to flee

and I curse my anxiety
a disorder that is slowly
eroding my insides and outsides

I curse this disorder
from the cuts chewed into my lips
the blunted and bitten fingernails
down to my legs that are always
ready to go go go
because this isn’t who I was supposed to be

my parent’s do not want me
neither one does
that is two of them
count em
fits on one hand
took two to make me
and both of them to send me away

i do not have a home with my mother
she has made that more than clear
kicked me out three times
and it was because i had decided that
i was no longer going to let her abuse me
giving her my childhood and 11 years of my life
was more than enough
and for ***** sake
i had already tried to **** myself to get away from her
and it didn’t work
so ****

my father is an *******
never has known how to be a parent
he can do weekends and overnight once in a blue moon
but ask him what’s for dinner
and suddenly he’s your slave
and you’re holding him hostage because of how fickle you are
yup sounds about right
and he just can’t stand not to have his living room any longer
he needs it
he just needs it so terribly
but no no dear one dear heart apple of my eye
he is not kicking you out
just being an abusive and manipulative ****

and i really do wonder
why my mother and him didn’t work out
because after all
they are just the same
abusive
prone to substance abuse
both have been alcoholics
though my mother may be more of a lush now
i don’t know
i don’t live with her anymore
but i guess they didn’t work out
because it must be really hard
to see yourself in the person that you are *******
and not just in a ****** way
but they are just like you
and ******* you hate it so much

so you leave them
don’t bother being in your only child’s life
until they are seven
and the child cuteness has left
and has been replaced by
a something
this is not your daughter
this is a ****** up kid
who doesn’t know what the hell they are
but is too afraid to ask or tell
either one of their parents
because mommy just wants to put bows in her daughter's hair
and daddy just wants to sleep all the ******* time
so hush little baby
keep it under wraps until it kills you

and *******
i come from a **** sandwich of a family
neither of my parents want me
two slices of abusive and crazy
with me right in the middle
and god
please don’t let me turn out like either one of my parents
i would rather die than be like either of them
and isn’t that sad
but who is surprised
at this point

because these two people
pathetic excuses for a parent
both of them
each of them
in the same and their own special ways
can’t even be bothered to try and glue back
together the broken vase pieces of their
son

and you know what
i hope the ******* step on the glass

i am my father’s son
born up out of a grieving mother
that did not want a child
not a baby that needed to be fed
and nursed and changed and loved
she did not know how to be a mother
perhaps she was too young
but even i stopped believing that lie years ago
because even i know
with no intention of having children of my own
(too afraid that i’ll turn out like her)
that a mother’s love should not have an expiration date but more often than not it does

and for my granny
my father’s mother
her love ran out too soon
and he put so many miles and states between them that he has forgotten he even has a mother
and even though i do love my granny
i still hate her for breaking my father in so many ways that he had to smoke and drink out the parts of himself that were too much like her
and even now
with so many states and years between them
that is a kind of hurt that never goes away
and gods sometimes i ask myself why
people have children when they cannot be parents

and maybe that is why she hates me
(the woman that carried me with her
for nine months
and then years after that
who would have gone to the ends of the earth
for me if i had asked her to)
because there is so much of my father in me

i am his son
same hair and glasses and the expressive hands
and the need to be constantly moving
to be heard and seen and to exist
maybe my existence was too loud for her(?)

i have always been his son
even when she did not want me to be
she saw him in my eyes
and i in his
and there was no room for her
because she had left us both years ago
and she resented us for it

because i am not hers
i never have been
with the last name that i am refusing to keep
and the old house-key that i purposely lost
i am my father’s son
and i always will be

(and she resents me for it)
(she hates me for it)
(she tells me it makes me an unloyal son)
(but i am learning not to listen to her anger)

because i am my father’s son
and i always will be

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