24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I’m alive
My body feels weightless and clear
My heart is soaring, I feel at peace here
I’m happy, content
I’m grateful for the hand lent
I’ve never felt like this before
I dare never again to ask for more
For why ask additions to my thrive
When I’m not alive
abandoned house
weathered, worn
she sleeps now
dreaming of what was
striped of her outer coat
cracks and leaks
“tap tap, tap”
a woodpecker tries to awaken her spirit
but the old venetian’s left behind
do not open
her eyes to the world
remain closed
I look at me,
I look at you,
I watch your lips,
I am being scanned
by your deep eyes,
I know I want you,
I want to feel
the strength of your body,
the lines of your back,
the coldness of your
hands caressing
my being,
I want you
to listen to my moans,
hold my hair,
and own me
from this day
until the end,
I want you to be
my king and the
soldier of my battles,
the companion
of my victories
and the hero
of my wars.
As I stand before the washing machine,
I realize that nothing has changed in ten years
Except the size of her clothes.
–
Yesterday, I sprayed SHOUT! all over the blemishes
ground deep into the fibers of her clothes;
Grass stains on the knees of her jeans,
Juice stains down the front of her shirts.
Her socks, hopeless.
–
Today, I spray SHOUT! all over the blemishes
ground deep into her the fibers of her uniforms;
Grass stains on the knees of her softball pants,
Dirt stains down the front of her jersey.
Her socks, hopeless.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
There’s a certain liberation to realizing you are someones worst fear.
Its doubly enjoyable when that someone is a loved one
embrace their nightmare
embrace the boogeyman of your trans self
that self they want to be a perfect porcelain doll
instead you are perched upon the mantle with a knife hidden in your skirts
That self is the patient strapped to a metal chair in the asylum
faces blurred against the screen fighting the ice pick
That self is a reflection that doesn’t quite meet what’s happening on this side of the glass
that self is the shadow that comes from behind the curtain in the empty room in the empty house at the end of the empty block
that self is the fingers creeping up against the edge of your bed frame reaching somehow underneath the impenetrable shield of sheets that you have built
it is the monster under the bed but not yours, the monster under the bed of people who would rather see you live in your scarcity.
Those who would rather see you consumed by those fears, who would rather see you die in the status quo
Be the boogeyman for everybody whose own desires are repressed
Be the boogeyman for every man who wanted to wear a skirt; for every girl who wanted to help put away in the chairs after church
that healed self is a trickster god, bringing in chaos wreaking havoc
When you realize the healed self is a monster in their eyes, at first it’s hard, but then I found, it’s kinda freeing. Because then I could be all the things that used to scare me
So it begins.
Sun comes up alongside the blue.
as mortality tries to force itself on you.
Don’t know why;
don’t know when.
We come back to ourselves
& then
wonder what comes next.
Do we waste away in margaritville for the foreseeable future
or let it waste away in us?
When all is said & done, you can’t
help but wonder what was all this fuss.
Maybe it’s just the universe
trying to have a good day
or maybe it’s the rest of us
trying to find a way
but i think we owe it to ourselves
to see what it has to say.
The world suddenly weighs on my shoulder
Strangers that turned friends
Have gone back to being strangers
And friends now, think I’m naïve.
There’s a sudden nudge
from everyone around,
to get work done faster
in ways better than before.
But buds are to bloom on their own
Not to be pricked this way.
If it were meant to be like this
why plant the seed anyway?
Deathly throes do drown,
Regrets and nostalgia,
Force blind confession.
I am the Gatekeeper to the Ferryman
My soul black as the heart of man
My light deceives any hope of happiness
My path offers a peaceful stroll without obstacles
My music bids a cheery welcome to quicken your pace
My outstretched hand gently guides you towards your fate
I am the Gatekeeper to the Ferryman, and I will never see you again.
I was a juggler
an artist like
no other
launching objects
in air to fly
with my subtle guidance
their trajectory
arched to my whim and wiles
grabbing more to
balance and amaze
my audience
performing tricks to titillate
their fancy
Only to be
derailed by
my life of love
turned to a life of
grief
my coordination
went dark
along with my
belief
that I could manage
and keep suspended
all that was thrown
at me
~ d², 09.02.23, 10:58 AM
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