"normativity" poems
I don't know what I am anymore
I'm too self obsessed not to care
as if I don't pass by a mirror every hour and stroke my ****** hair
standards of cis normativity never make sense
they don't make sense more than ever
why be like everyone else
when I'm already the outcast
whats the point to stop expression
whats the point to stop..my expression?
of my experience
of my encounters
of my existence
my identity will be radical
with or without cis validation
my happiness is resistance
with or without standards
we were not meant to fit in
so outgrowing it is suitable
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 9:57 PM UTC
I forgot to take my medicine.
Don't freak out, but I forgot to take my pills.
My veins are not swirling and dancing and wait actually the pills probably slow them to stop swirling and dancing so I guess now is the time for said swirling and dancing, is it not?
I can feel a bit of mania in my head, so excited and so alive and so real. I can tell because there goes periods, out the window, never to be remembered or recollected or what was I talking about?
Its twitching and hopping and like Wonderland and here we go, no ashes, just painting the roses red, painting the roses red, here comes the queen of hearts and off there goes my head, we're painting the roses red, until we end up dead.
Am I somberly manic, or maniacally somber or am i even sad? I don't know its just the twitch, I can feel it, so Chesire under my skin, the smile is coming through and my head is racing and my focus is wasting away under the hot spotlight of my own personal theater. Bravo, Grace, take a bow!
Letters and figures and math and language, so different but so funny because people speak both, why do mathematicians not count as fluent in another language, because its certainly foreign to me.
Ooh, I probably should alert the one I never expected, tell him how my head's a twitching and my fingers a fluttering and all of it a maddening. I missed this, I'd hate to admit, with the progress and the productivity and the beauty and the wonder and the land and the magic carpet ride. What land am I in again?
How funny it would be to see an intoxicated me. Am I intoxicated now? I don't know, I act like it but nothing's in my veins to even the pills am I born intoxicated, am I intoxication incarnate, am I addictive, am I a problem?
I like my sweater today, its got words that I love and words that I feel, to be or not to be, that is the question, **** it feels like I'm on fire, my limbs are burning and I am flame reborn. Maybe I should take off my hat and let out some heat, but its a pretty hat and it might feel bad if I ignore it.
Time to go back to busy life, where the life is dull and i am the fire but I love the dullness and the normativity because it involves my wonderland friends and the one I never expected. They make me happy, which lets me fly like this. The flying fire is me.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
I am an introspective extravert inexplicably exerting determination and ********** of normativity in my delivery. I am a Neo-narcissist, a true self-arsonist surrounded by crumbling spires of self-respect, yet I refuse to neglect my superior intellect, but my ego exemplifies my worst and testifies to my selfish intents and purposes and even worse is, my flaws. And now all I can do is pause and reflect upon what made up, makes up the mind of man in me and whether or not we are all slowing, and lazily going crazy or just me.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 6:04 AM UTC
I've been breaking my bones trying to reshape them to make your eyes comfortable
I've been going under cognitive reconstruction to shelter your mind
I've been feeding spars flames to this piece of firewood just so I don't burn you
I will no longer dilute myself just to have the right to exist
While you flaunt all your raw intensity
Just because you have normativity holding your hand
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
It’s just a common essence to
deliver such a presence, not
relying on the presents so that
we can learn some lessons. Drift
off, far from being found. Scaling
mountains in a single bound.
Reaching a commonality, between
our normativity believing in controllability.
We sit, we relax, we breathe. It’s all
okay, nothing but a real dream, dreaming
about reality. Drifting out to sea, seperating
everything between you and me.
We beg, we plead, we cry. Wanting
nothing, but for this dream to stay alive.
Without each other we feel lost, with
no place to hide. Pushed further away by an
increasing tide. Skies turn to black, before a
flash of light. Dream forgotten with the delivery
of sight. A flash of black and then light again,
the thought of such a dream, crossed the back
of my head. Dreams do come true, it just takes
time. I start my day, like any other,
drinking coffee and blowing a line.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 12:24 AM UTC
It’s just a common essence to
deliver such a presence, not
relying on the presents so that
we can learn some lessons. Drift
off, far from being found. Scaling
mountains in a single bound.
Reaching a commonality, between
our normativity believing in controllability.
We sit, we relax, we breathe.
It’s all okay, nothing but a real dream, dreaming
about reality. Drifting out to sea, separating
everything between you and me.
We beg, we plead, we cry.
Wanting nothing, but for this dream to stay alive.
Without each other we feel lost, with
no place to hide. Pushed further away by an
increasing tide. Skies turn to black, before a
flash of light. Dream forgotten with the delivery
of sight. A flash of black and then light again,
the thought of such a dream, crossed the back
of my head. Dreams do come true, it just takes time.
I start my day, like any other.
Drinking coffee and blowing a line.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
Loving you is a political act
A radical act of revolutionary love,
Loving you in the morning, in the middle of the night,
Loving you in a time of war,
Loving you: your spirit, your skin, your depths,
In a historical warfare where we are not meant to be wanted,
But gunned down in the streets,
Detained, criminalized, displaced.
My tongue, which is supposed to remain silent
Turns into poetry at the contact of your lips,
My accented language turns into lullabies of love
Asking your body to rest, your soul to rise,
Your spirit to become one with mine,
As we shield each other from this world of ****
And whiteheteropatriarchalcitizenist normativity
That we love to interrupt as we breathe
Against each other’s flesh.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 9:34 PM UTC
having a seizure
is like
having the rug
of
basic familiarity
in life
entirely
tugged out
from beneath
your mental footing
as your perceptions
whittle themselves
into
sharp
sensitivities
and a
strange penchant
to mistake
the place
you find
yourself
in
for
... another ...
or start
mixing memories
and
perceptions thereof
as if both
must
have always been
one
and the
same
(which,
granted,
perhaps they are.)
This proves
there really is
*no difference between
*the observer
of the universe
and
what is actually observed
...except relative to the ubiquitously shared
sobriety of the
rest
of the
human race
reinforcing
its own
cognitive-perceptive bias
through a never-ending
feedback loop
leashed and tagged
with a label that reads:
'Radio Normativity.'
"Tune in to have your bias confirmed!"
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 6:37 PM UTC
She says I sound like the flavour she smokes every now and then.
Velvet hookah smoke.
She's afraid, she's not.
I guess I am pretty frightening.
She says you're too real for me.
So different from what I imagined you to be.
She says my life's going too well for me to be negative.
And I laugh.
It's 4:39 and I want nobody.
Not a soul, not à hand to touch me.
People are tiring.
With their words and repetitive situations,
I seldom rather silence so I don't become a répétition of myself.
I take her outside and hand her a slim lighting it up blindly.
She smokes and stops talking.
"give me one" so I take the cigarette and take it to my chest and out my nose.
Such a surprised grimace "you know how to inhale nicotine huh?"
I take one more and tell her I now understand why people smoke ever so desperately.
The placebo vice of normativity.
Smoking is like meeting people.
Seemingly good, foolish and totally unhealthy.
I'm tired of this patterned living.
She says how can your mind go to so many places?
Said that she could drown in my thoughts and I'd still find the simplicity of others fascinating.
Which I am not denying.
My mind's à pretty big ballroom.
With lacquered black floors perfectly made to reflect sound.
And she says she's scared.
Scared that I'm too complex,
Scared because I belong in too many places.
I tell her she's just confused and restless.
I tell her she should think of me less and let the nicotine in her body rest.
And I do confess.
That whole night was meaningless.
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 4:39 PM UTC