I really don’t,
Not an ounce,
Not anymore,
Not evermore,
I don’t care.

I don’t care that I’m short,
I don’t care that I’m stout,
I don’t care that I’m poor,
I don’t care much about.

What’s to care for?
Who’s to care for?
We’re carless little bees,
Buzzing away at the lost honey,
When someone is spraying our hive.

Ask me if I give a ****,
Ask me if it is true,
You’ll come to learn and realize,
That even this poem doesn’t rhyme,
And I don’t care.

there is such depth within his dark eyes
a depth so far when i reach out nothing touches
i will wait for the sound when i drop a rock
and i will sit there quietly for days
looking down his pupils
like sitting at a well without water without end
his image ripples at the edge and faintly i will notice
that it isnt him at all
that the rock will never land but always fall

It's always been hard for me to switch,
To stop what I'm doing and move on to the next thing
That I'm told to do, whether it's at home, work or even going to the grocery store.

Sometimes I sit for 20 minutes before going in somewhere.
Punctuality has been a staple for me
Even if it means sitting in my car for an hour,
I will be there on time.

I like having time in between these things to prepare
It's like I need to switch mindsets before I begin,
Sometimes 8 hours felt like a punishment.
Other times it can fly by thanks to dissociation.

i love you
and you love him
i know you are scared
because i am too
but is this love
not enough
to answer
your fear

"He's young now." I look into the mirror. "He'll grow on you."

"He's learning. Unwise in his few years, low in confidence."

I ponder..." Will he always be so...scrappy?"

Here stands a young man, looking in the mirror. Still baffled at the reflection he sees.

There goes a woman, his mother, still determined to have a youngest daughter.

People say "He's changing, look in the mirror...see for yourself."

What I see is a scared young man....

scared to live, scared to take up space, scared to make a sound in the noise of society's never ending chaos.

She's trying...she says. To understand. To support. To move on. She knows not her faults nor the effect her words have on you...she only knows that one day her daughter stopped wearing dresses, cut her hair, and left a life of pink and pageantry behind.

No, she doesn't know what she does, but she can see the light in your eyes began to dim when she calls you her little girl.

His father....slowly decaying, pushes the ideas of a son out of his mind. Refuses to see the beard and changing physique in front of him, clings desperately like a moth to a flame to his little girl who he swears never grew a day past the age of five.

Back when things were simple. Back when there wasn't so much **** change. Back when things mattered less about pronouns and more about peace of mind and reputation.

When I grow up, I want to be the change that I wish I saw in all of you. I want to embrace who I love with open arms, decide that I'd **** for the man I see in the mirror. Let all those who disapprove be ******.

Because if I couldn't protect the light in that little girls eyes so many years ago, I'll be **** sure that the man I become is one who will protect mine.

"A man so flat and boobless you could skip him across a lake like a prized stone"

I showed my surgeon the text post, and she said
"We'll get you there!"

**** right, she did.
Staring into the mirror, I see all of me.

Mortal boundaries declaring who I've always known myself to be

Thank you for all of your support throughout the years, dear readers <3

Finally, finally, finally
I am free

the fan on the lowest setting
still disturbs the decade of dust
enveloping the books that formed
my adolescence;
the disorganized organisms and
******* that have dissolved
in these sheets and these short days
haunt my dreams;

how do i sleep,
knowing that the past future present
perpetuate the block universe of
betrayal and boredom and
baby cries, my mother's eyes,
the abdication of adulthood
and absolution in the absence
of harrowing hope.

i broke my own heart
three states over and now
working and waiting for the
answer to be revealed;
my teenage self says that
sadness is my truest form,
but my soul knows there is more

When
doors open with no breeze
chimes sing with no wind
ya blunts keep goin out… and
Candle flames sputter
You’ll know it’s me
Passin through
to color your aura blue
raise your vibration and leave
my scent in your shirt
palo santo or eucalyptus
In the air…
just
breathe deeply Baby…
exhale slowly Darlin…
and feel betta
cuz it’s just me
Carla-Marie
to get on your nerves
or make you smile
or both
as per usual

My clothes are heavy, pack animals
with bags full of worries, I have them
washed when I sleep, dried
in the light of the moon, breathe

Water ripples in the dark
of the gorge between the mountains
here and there fireflies
wanting to ***, they dance

in front of me to the bay
the water is still warm
like when I was a child
with mama in the bath

her soft body
the sweet, lukewarm air
that I still can smell
in the light of the moon

I spread my arms and legs
like a peacock
and draw a circle around me
only my body is still here