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[enarsun]

We’re sitting on a crowded bus with our shoulders and legs touching, and I'm feeling warm. I know the only reason is that the bus is full. I know it means nothing to him and everything to me. “I liked messing around with a board with you. I don’t think skateboarding is for me but it was fun.” He says, speaking loudly over other noise. “I don’t get how you’re able to do a kickflip or whatever it’s called. That shit looks like a magic trick to me.” He continues.

“I’ve been skateboarding for over a decade. I knew it wouldn’t be the thing for you but I liked seeing you try anyway. I saw the effort.” I tell him.

"Honestly man, I’m afraid of falling.” He says, and I hear it all wrong. He meant falling off a skateboard. I couldn’t help but think he meant falling in love with me.

Yeah, right.

“You’re so cool, dude. Skateboarding looks sick.” He adds, but I’m still caught up in a moment. So I deceive myself into thinking it means he finds me attractive. God, help me. I’m in love with my straight best friend. It’s so cliché.

“I guess it looks cool. Thanks.”

[enarsun]

He passes me a cigarette and presses one between his lips. I think about kissing him. I shouldn’t. He’s straight. I light the tip and inhale smoke. He exhales. “I love you, man.” He says. My heart is beating faster. “I know.” I can’t seem to say it back because it matters. I know he loves me, but he doesn’t love me. That’s why it’s so easy for him to say it.

We’re sitting on a fallen tree trunk. The air is hot. He’s hot. I find myself in a daydream as silence takes a seat between us.

“I’ve been talking to this girl.” Silence makes a quick exit. “Oh, yeah?” I say, putting my butt out. “Yeah. She’s really cool. But I think my feelings for her are friendly.” I can’t help but recognize a pattern. His feelings for women are always friendly. I’ve already stopped hoping he’s gay, but every now and then hope tickles me again.

“I’ll tell her tonight so she doesn’t get the wrong idea.” He says. “Good.”

“What about you? Interested in anyone?” He knows I’m gay. He’s known since we were seventeen. We’re twenty-seven now. But he doesn’t know I’m interested in him. I can’t help but find him interesting.

“No, not really. There’s this one guy but it doesn’t matter at all because he’s straight.”

“Do I know him?” I hate lying. “Yeah.”

“Oh, who?”

I almost tell him, but a blue jay catches my attention.

[enarsun]

“Come swim.” He says. I shake my head, no, but I'm smiling. “Not yet.” I want to feel hot for a little longer, under the open sun, before water rinses my sweat away. “Alright.” He dives in. I watch him disappear, then shift my attention and see a cloud become bigger, reminding me of something I know. I know of feelings that became erect without me doing anything other than sit on the ground and witness it. 

The growing cloud is up there and he reappears.

I watch him watch me, and between us, there’s space where water meets land. I lie back and close my eyes for about four minutes. Clouds move on quickly. They’re gone when I look up again. He is close, drying off. “Your turn.” He throws his towel on my chest. “Alright, okay.” 

I pull off my white T-shirt and push myself up to my feet. He crashes down onto his ass, letting out a satisfied exhale. The water is cold because the day is hot, and once I’m under, I’m without feelings. I forget he’s there.  

The lake holds me.

I go up for air, and my hair is different. He catches a glimpse of my darkness, but it’s only hair. Now, he’s the one on land and I’ve almost forgotten. I become him from moments ago and he is me. It is somehow an intimate thing, to see myself in him where he sits under the hot sun. He reminds me of something I’ve felt. I can remember feeling it. But there’s an undeniable truth between us, that what he feels isn’t what I feel. I can see him in the same position, looking at the sky and sometimes at me, but can only imagine. It’s the imagining that always gets me. I swim closer to land, to him, until my feet touch certainty, until I’m walking again. “There.” I say, grabbing my towel from the ground. He laughs for some reason, and not knowing the reason is the reason I haven’t really gotten over it.

[nemfrog]

The nervous system. Man, woman, know thyself! 1908.

Internet Archive

[enarsun]

There is something about the written word that claws its way out of me. I’ll tell you in person, but first, I’ll tell you in written words. I want you to know that forgiveness sometimes sounds like weeping. I forgave you a long time ago. But then I learned that forgiveness isn’t always whole. At times it’s broken, like a cry that splits in two. I forgive you. I forgive you. Someday it’ll be finished. I’m angry at you for giving birth to me in West Africa. It was unfair to give me that land only to take it from me. There’s something inside me that feels unfinished, now, and I’m already too old to finish it. But I want to be hopeful. I don’t want to be angry. I want to be grounded. I want to move forward instead of backward. I keep going back to the place where I’m only a child looking up to you. I’m stuck there. I’m stuck in West Africa. I think Ryan is too. He doesn’t talk about it. I’m still forgiving you. The other night it sounded like weeping. I became a little girl in my own arms. I wish you would have considered the importance of a birthplace before bringing me into the world.

[enarsun]

There’s me, and then there’s me. I’ve got the scars to prove it. I’m seen as a man because I am a man. But then there’s me. I’m missing that part of myself. Breasts. Regret.

But I want you to know I did it. I got rid of them for one moment of manly happiness.

Scars fade.

But I want you to know I didn’t do it. No, I couldn’t do it. You know I already did. I did it in my head. I’m shirtless in a daydream. Is it okay for a man to have boobs? Don’t tell me. Don’t look at me. I don’t want to be seen.

I want to go swimming.

[enarsun]

Quick art. Pen and pencil crayons. It’s called Through The Dark.

[lovestereo]

Visit Original Link

[0ld5chool]

[red-lipstick]

[enarsun]

I give up! I’m not him. I can’t do it. I can’t remove my breasts.

I’m not entirely transgender. I think I’m just androgynous. I feel the need to define myself. I need a solid understanding of how I present myself to others. So, I’m not a trans guy. I’m an androgynous female. Not quite a woman. A man, perhaps, if we’re talking philosophy.

I’m a skeleton. Hey, hello.

[yankeeblue]

DMX photographed by Atsuko Tanaka

[spanning-time]

[enarsun]

“Emma” is my inner child.

I didn’t like having a unique name when I was younger. Nobody at school pronounced it right. My inner child is a girl because I endured being treated like a girl. It doesn’t change the fact that I wanted to be treated differently.

If I ever decide to transition, I’m claiming “Nika” as a guys name. It’s hard to feel like an empowered woman when you feel like a man underneath it all. But I don’t know, I’ll see. I need stuff to make sense. My mother wounded my masculinity by pushing me to submit. I’m not that different from when I was a child. If I’m transgender now, it means I was transgender before but didn’t have a safe space to bloom. I don’t have grounded roots. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’d like to go back to West Africa but what would I be doing there?

[enarsun]

Bon Iver, 2016.

Everything that happens is from now on This is pouring rain This is paralyzed

There's a black crow sitting across from me His wiry legs are crossed He is dangling my keys, he even fakes a toss Whatever could it be That has brought me to this loss?

For Emma, Forever Ago

[enarsun]

I was a quiet child. My dad would talk my ear off and not ever ask me about my day at school. My mom would tell me to shut up after only saying two words. It was awful. So when I met a man who touched my mother wound, I couldn’t stop talking. I turned into an annoying little girl. Awkward. I’m an adult. I hate that it happened.

You could say I still “talk” a lot, but it’s writing. I’m a writer and this blog is my safe space to express myself in written word.

I enjoy expression. I’m quiet in person.

[enarsun]

Maybe language is the root of racism. Because “black” is associated with evil and “white” represents goodness. How are we supposed to end racism with such associations. The truth is, neither black nor white is a colour. But we are all coloured people. I don’t know how else we could refer to “black” or “white” individuals though. Maybe we should reframe the way we see black and white, as representations of neutrality.

But ideally, we shouldn’t refer to people using colourless terms. A news report should simply say “a man in his late 30’s shot and injured a woman in her early 40’s” when referring to an incident. Why does the colour of his or her skin matter? It’s like we want a reason to be racist.

We should really stop perceiving darkness as evil. Blinding light isn’t good. Dark is mysterious. Dark is the night.