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…

what’s wrong?is my least favorite questionbecausesometimes i don’t know the answer i didn’t know what a meltdown waseven though i had them all the timeand so i trained myself to make something upto find the fracture that caused the collapseto explain the implosion and the sadness public sadness is an obligationit’s an obligation to stay…

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…

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…

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…

i had words beforebut i convinced myselfthat they were pointlessand so they wandered offand found another placeto play 04.14.23

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…

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

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…

snapshot:my mother has taken me to the house of a friend of hers who works in a hair salonexceptmaybe she doesn’t maybe she’s on leave maybe she was firedi don’t really knowbuti get a haircut that’s supposed to be from a professionalat a cut ratebecause it’s in her houseand she’s not supposed to be doing…