#homecomingqueef

[thehomecomingqueef-blog]

That raw glow rips a hole in the blue of the sky. I am inside. The west calls me to surrender, but I am right here, where I’ve nearly always been, dreaming of somewhere else.

Walking these broken streets, in my sleep, I read the shit graffiti, wander the back lots, half expecting to get killed or caught. The river spills over the dam. Derelict factories crumble into it, washing away our proud past.

I am a piece of this story, but somehow, I feel like a stranger, slipping between buildings, kicking rocks along the tracks. My family has their stake in this story, but somehow, I stand outside of that. They may say it was my choice, but really, what choice did I have?   © 2016 Norman Victor Chaplin Some Rights Reserved

[thehomecomingqueef-blog]

I made myself blank. I stood perfectly still. My words, precious and few, I kept to myself.

I took their shit. I let it slide over both shoulders, falling into my pockets.

The weight made me strong. The wait made me strong. I did my time, like we all do our time.

At night, in bed alone, my fingers walked over my naked skin, digging their nails into my every perceptible imperfection.

Tearing the surface of every bump left a scab, now a scar. “You can’t leave anything alone. You can’t let anything go.”

All I could do was turn it over. In my mind, I could only surrender, but there is a part of me that cannot resist a fight.

There is a part of me that cannot stand idly by. There is a part of me that cannot live a lie.

That part of me is the reason I survived. © 2016 Norman Victor Chaplin Some Rights Reserved

[thehomecomingqueef-blog]

That feeling, in early morning, when everything is still, and I am so tired nothing seems real; I am walking with rocks stuck between my shoes and the soles of my bare feet.

The sky is light, but the sun is nowhere to be seen. I am soaking wet; my bare legs covered in dirt.

The nights I have survived might make me a heroine in some eyes, but all I want is sleep. All I want is to dream without crying.

The nights I have survived leave me grateful to be alive, but all I want is sleep. All I want is to dream without screaming.

And that man is at my door again, his limp leg scraping the ground. And that man is trying to get in.

I am locking and relocking the doors. He is rattling the knob, calling me a whore. I am hiding in the bathroom, putting on my makeup, when he breaks it down. That’s when I wake up.    © 2016 Norman Victor Chaplin Some Rights Reserved

[thehomecomingqueef-blog]

“Are you there, God? It’s Me, Homecoming Queef.”

[thehomecomingqueef-blog]

[thehomecomingqueef-blog]

Amazon.com: Homecoming Queef: 18 Poems eBook: Norman Victor Chaplin: Kindle Store

"In the first chapbook from this confrontational multimedia series, genderqueer artist/writer Norman Victor Chaplin collects 18 poems, employing spare language and deft metaphor in the exploration of deeply personal subject matter, ranging from childhood abuse and radical self acceptance, to self harm and suicidality."

[thehomecomingqueef-blog]

Homecoming Queef #1 by Norman Victor Chaplin

"In the first chapbook from this confrontational multimedia series, genderqueer artist/writer Norman Victor Chaplin collects 18 poems, employing spare language and deft metaphor in the exploration of deeply personal subject matter, ranging from childhood abuse and radical self acceptance, to self harm and suicidality."

[thehomecomingqueef-blog]