metallic ticks
on my wrist
making cadence
that synchronizes
to my beating heart.

The watch band
is binding, and
not just there
to keep it secure
but to cover secrets.

my punishment
for consistent failure
is writing lines
chalk isn't what
traces my skin,
but metal razor
bringing blood
out from within.

the "chalkboard"
is my body,
in its entirety.
silver sliver traces
lines and names
over tan soft,
etches scars and
little white li(n)es.

people say
I should be
grateful,
because I don't
have to move
all the time.

but to float
place to place,
too quick
to take root,
is better than
the strength
required to
rip out years
and years of
deep roots of
love and
dependency
that have
reached through
cold earth
to draw from
the waters of
love and
companionship

they attempted to
transplant me,
but my roots
are withered and
I can't find it
inside me to bloom.

five.
of the worst
days of my life

five days
out of 17
(almost) years

five days ago
my best friend
and the girl I loved
took her life

five days
without her
in my dismal life

five days
since she broke
the promise we made
we told each other
we would stick it out
we would never leave each other

five days
of tears
and fears
and trying to get
through my life

five days of
missing her
and needing her
and not having her
and failing to find
a way to bring her back

five days of
thinking of how
I could have done something
how I could have
somehow stopped
the end of my lover's life

five days.

how many dead kids will it take
before our system realises it’s corrupted

how many slit wrist will it take
before our system sees that peace has been disrupted

how many meds have to be prescribed
before our system notices hate has erupted

how many hurting people will it take
before our system admits
the way it raises its children is destructive

s.s

in my struggles
for acceptance,
I seek someone
to love me for
who I am. Is it

                                     parents?
Friends? or
am I destined
to a life born
of struggle and
pain? Is it that

                                     or
will I someday
get a real
community all
for me and for
other people
like me?

                                      Are they
people that
even exist? I
know it won’t
be my parents.
They don’t give
love, they’re
more like

                                      jailors.
They confine
me to my body,
to my brain and
to my pains.

they say that
you can fall in
love or lust.
I can love but

                                  I can’t
fall into lust.
I don’t want to
and I don’t feel
such things. I
do feel love, and
I will never

                                   forget
the first time
I fell in love.
It wasn’t a
him like I was
told it should
be. It was

                                  her
and it was
something
beautiful, just
like she was.
Her face remains
in my memory,
and I’ll never
forget what her

                                  touch
felt like, even
though I’ll never
feel it again.

in a world
split into
groups of
two, what
and how and

                                 where
do I belong?
In the gender
binary, I feel
placeless. Not
quite sure if I

                                 will
ever belong
anywhere.
People say that
I am stuck
a woman, that

                                 I
will never be
a real man.
That when
I finally meet
my “well-deserved”

                                end
I will go to
the bad side
of the binary
of the afterlife.
They say I’ll end

                                 up
in Hell, just
for being me.