so anywaythe other day i was thinking about how i was trained to always apologizeto always feel sorry for who i am and what i’ve doneand how that created a lifetime of shamelikeeverything i do is wrongbutit’s just not truei meanhonestlyi know that i’m not perfect and that plenty of what i do is messed…
Category: Poetry
solemnity
at the end of sorrowat the end of ragethere is a quieta pausea simmering peacethat resolves into joy i do not want ecstasyi even struggle with spelling iti do not want deliriumor heavenly bliss i just seek the joythat resides in the softnessof that momenton the other side of darkness it is the peacein a…
redundant
it’s hard to keep upwith what i’ve already saidit’s hard to look backto make sure i’m not sayingwhat i’ve already said it feels like i keep saying the same thingscreaming at the same walltugging at the same stringsinside my memories is there a goalis there an endif i tear down the bricksto find the me…
three scoops
somewhere near my 13th birthdayi was in an ice cream shop in an underground mall in torontothat was attached to a subway station in a way that i didn’t understand at the timeand they were offering one, two, or three scoopsin a cup or a cone i asked for three scoops in a coneand they…
glasspeople
somewhere deepwithin the labyrinth where the glasspeoplehad found themselveslost in betweenthe there and the here i sat a whileon a molded vinyl chairand listened to their murmurings i could not speaki had lost my voicealthough the words swelled uppuffed uppressed against my chest i had so many things to sayi had so many thoughts to…
whisper
i had words beforebut i convinced myselfthat they were pointlessand so they wandered offand found another placeto play 04.14.23
deconstruction time
to becomei must first unbecomei must first tear downthe brickwork and mortarof a lifetime of pretense and subterfugelaid upon mecemented around me but… wait:it is easier to play the victimthan to account for myselfand tear down my own illusionsand rebuild anew deconstructionprecedes the becomingproceeds from the unbecomingand from that detrituswill rise(no, not a phoenix, that…
imposter
this is the part of the story where i tell youthat i’ve always known i was transthat i’ve always felt that i was differentthat even from a young age… even from a young age… that’s how the story is supposed to startand then unfoldit’s the scripti’m autisticwe live by scripts but when i was a…
afloat
afloatadriftclinging to the jetsamof another dreamfoldingslidingroilingrememberingthe way i wasbefore i becomethe way i amand beneaththese fingertipswhere the echoesglistenedlistenedredoubledretainedexhaledinhaledreleaseddissolveddissolvinginto the spacebetween the wallsand unbecoming and when i woke upeverything was whole again 04.11.23
interlude 1
in a corner of the labyrinthhalfway inhalfway outi found a chair by a table it was a green armchairwith carved mahagony legsand coarse upholsteryscratchy but invitingdrenched in nostalgia the table was an end tableround toprecently refinishedso it reflected the dim lightof the hallway on the table was a vasemade of depression-era glassand containing one yellow…