Just Like You

Rune | 25 | It/He| Queer Writer Who knows if I’ll ever publish my poetry I might as well document it here.

[wb-rune]

𝚁𝚞𝚗𝚎

𝙸𝚝/𝙷𝚎

25

𝚀𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝙿𝚘𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙰𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚢, 𝚜𝚘 𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎.

𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝙼𝚎

𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚊𝚕𝚕! 𝙰𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝙸’𝚖 𝚁𝚞𝚗𝚎! 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎, 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚢. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚘 𝙸’𝚟𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚠. 𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝙸’𝚕𝚕 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚃𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚊𝚝. 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝- 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜. 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝙸 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝- 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕. 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜! 𝙸𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔, 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝙳𝙼𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚟𝚒𝚊 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚜!

𝙼𝚢 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜

#𝚁𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚌 𝚂𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚜 - 𝙼𝚢 𝙿𝚘𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚐!

#𝚁𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝚁𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜 - 𝙼𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜

#𝚁𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝚁𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 - 𝚅𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚜

#𝙲𝚛𝚢𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝙰𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜 - 𝙰𝚜𝚔𝚜!

[wb-rune]

An Incomplete List of Reasons Not to Kill Myself

The cats would sit and cry at the front door

Waiting for me to come home.

They wouldn’t understand

That I would never come back.

They would grow to resent me eventually.

My friends would be devastated by the news.

They would wonder why

They didn’t notice something sooner

Or how they could have fixed things.

The unfinished art on my tablet and

In my sketchbooks

Would sit untouched and forgotten.

The poetry in my head would be lost.

The short stories I’ve written

Would be left to time.

I would never have the chance

To see my best friend buy his first home,

Or my little brother married.

I would never meet the love of my life

Or have a family.

I would miss out on new music

And new art.

I would never learn to make the perfect tart

Or a proper key lime pie.

I’d never have another dog

Or get to say goodbye to my childhood pet.

I would never add new bones to my collection.

I would never feel the warmth of a hot shower

After a long and terrible day at work.

I would never sing again.

I would never see my thirtieth birthday.

I would never see the point of light at the end.

I would never be able to forgive myself.

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To Hold God

My bloody hands cradle a heart that is not mine,

Delicate and ever beating against my palm.

Sharpened claws trace shapes across delicate muscle,

And I am held in awe by its steady rhythm.

There is a fragility in the trust I am offered,

The vulnerability I am shown.

I am made only of anger and violence,

And yet somehow I am trusted to be gentle.

A heart that is not mine steadily beats in my hands,

My claws barely graze the surface of it.

I cradle it close to my chest and know

That something holy has been offered to me.

To protect the beating organ in my posession

Is something holy that I do not deserve.

With reverence I press the beating heart to my chest,

And I wonder with every beat if I am right for this.

As my breathing falls into rhythm,

I know I am right for this.

My bloody hands cradle a heart that is not mine,

Held in reverence and adoration to my chest.

My claws may never be cleaned of it,

And my maw may always drip with ichor,

But I am more now than a weapon.

I am a monster with purpose,

A purpose I do not deserve,

But one that is mine.

In my claws rests a still beating heart that is not mine,

Something holy bleeding into my skin,

And I know I am meant to be gentle.

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Obligation

There is nothing

Nothing that could

Could save us now

Now from the consequences

Consequences of the few

Few people who have

Have damaged the planet

Planet beyond repair

Repair the world

World with acts

Acts of love and care

Care for the things

Things that inhabit this place

Place where all we are is stardust

Stardust and energy

Energy that fuels everything

Everything and nothing

Nothing we do now

Now could fix the world

World that we all inhabit

Inhabit and destroy

Destroy the world we’ve broken

Broken down beyond repair

Repair the wounds we’ve made

Made deep gashes with machinery

Machinery that could have been used

Used to help people

People who destroy the world

[wb-rune]

Breathing

Sometimes I think about dying.

I think about all of the ways I could go.

Sometimes I think about dying.

I think about everything I regret and

All of the things I

Don’t know how to miss yet.

Sometimes I think about dying.

I wait in relative quiet and

Consider how the world grows in death.

Dying is a lot like breathing.

Sometimes I think about dying.

I think of the people I

Would leave behind.

Would I be missed?

Sometimes I think about dying.

There is ash in my lungs and

Venom on my tongue and

Sometimes

I think

About dying

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Ash

Every time

Something changes

I find ash building

In my lungs

Again

And every time

I regret

Allowing myself the solace

Of burning I my chest

I hate the way

I fall back

So easily

Into old habits

and I hate myself

For letting it get this far

The ash on my fingertips

Smells like tar and self destruction

And I know

That I should do better

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Sky Blue

To the girl I could have been,

The daughter I could have stayed,

To the woman I could have become,

Would it have been easier if I had allowed you to flourish?

Would it have been easier if I’d sat idly in your hands

And let myself be shaped

The way that was expected of me?

To the girl I could have been,

Would you have been happy?

Would you have loved and been loved the same way?

To the woman I could have become,

Would you have found the safety I’ve fallen into?

The comfort with yourself?

Would you see your body as something that was yours?

As something worth keeping?

Would you have survived?

To the girl I could have been,

To the daughter I could have stayed,

To the woman I could have become,

Do you see me?

Do you see the man I am today?

Do you see the warmth and light in my life?

Do you think you would have been happy?

You should be proud of how

I’ve become something real

Authentic and warm

In spite of everything.

You would not have been happy

To see the way things are now

But I have the strength to move forward

Through the molten stone trying

To solidify and hold me in place.

You would have crumbled.

To the girl I could have been

I’m glad I never did,

But thank you for carrying me

To a point where I could open the walls of my chest

And crawl out into the world

As the honest thing I am today.

[wb-rune]

Favoritism

I was never my father’s favorite.

Don’t think I ever will be

Even if he has

Nothing to compare me to.

I’ve never been my father’s favorite.

I wasn’t the

Daughter

He paid for.

I’ll never be my father’s favorite.

I don’t want to be anymore.

His approval means

So little to me now.

I don’t need to be my father’s favorite.

He wants an idea of me

Thats never existed.

I’m better off

Without his approval.

I’m happier

On my own.

[wb-rune]

Ozone

There are no holes in the clingfilm

Covering the leftovers from last night’s dinner

But there are bugs crawling over

The half eaten remains

Of last night’s meal.

Heat from the decomposing remains

Left a thin layer of condensation

On the underside

Of the plastic.

There are specks

Of mold and rot

Lining the rim of the ceramic bowl.

The fridge where the covered remains are housed

Smells sour in the morning.

It’s hot outside

When summer hits

And I wonder where the condensation goes

If there are no holes in the cling film

Over the ceramic bowl

Where last nights leftovers

Are housed.

[wb-rune]

No-Name

There was a time

Before

Where nothing felt

Like me.

There was a time

When

I was young

That I was not myself.

The reality

Of being

Is to stare

At a face that does not belong to you

And see

That nothing

Is truly you

Or yours.

There was a time

Before

I had a name.

There was a time

Before

I was myself.

[wb-rune]

Hope

I gave up

On sitting in

My room

And waiting

For things to improve.

I’ve been dead

For years now

And I’m sick

Of waiting.

I need to push forward

And Live.

I need to Live.

[wb-rune]

Entropy

The idea

Of a constant

Continuation of being

Is more terrifying to me

Than a permanent end.

The thought of

Immortality

Is more terrifying to me

Than death.

An ending

Is all I have

To keep me from being afraid

To live.

Nothing would be worth

Being alive for

If there was no finality

To life.

Why enjoy life

If it does not one day end?

Death makes life

Worth living.

An end makes the way there

Worth it.

[wb-rune]

Grapefruit

Sunlight bursting from golden bells,

The sky a shimmering sea blue.

Locked away in a tower of shining silver salt,

A eggshell moon resides.

The wretched iridescent light radiates from sea-salt walls,

Casting over pale pink lands,

Leaving them white-washed and ugly.

The bitter taste of repulsion remains on the tongue of mother earth,

The sun’s rays fading into nothing behind the silver tower.

The pearly light once more leaks from spiderweb cracks in thick walls,

Leaving the land a tangled mess of snowy streaks and black voids of nothing.

The masses were enraged by the loss of the golden sun,

Tossing stones and rotted fruit at the fragile tower.

One night the webs of white light did not show through.

One night the people drowned in dark.

One night,

The moon

Was

New

[wb-rune]

Pack Bond

Kinship is

Borderline impossible

When humanity no longer

Clings to your skin.

Nothing feels right

When fear

Holds close

The ones you love.

[wb-rune]

Masc

When I was growing up,

I told my friends I was a boy.

I wanted to play with the other boys my age.

Only a few would let me.

I wasn’t really a boy to most of them.

When I was growing up I remember being mistaken for

A boy.

It made me happy,

I was elated, even.

And my heart was crushed when the stranger was

Corrected.

I tried to tell my parents that I was a boy

For the first time

At twelve.

It did not go how I wanted.

When I turned sixteen

I remember they made fun of the way I struggled

To pick a name

While singing me happy birthday.

My birthday gift was bra shopping.

I did not feel like a boy.

They made it hard to feel like a boy.

I left home

At twenty.

I was hospitalized a month later

I went to two hospitals.

The doctors and the nurses

At the second hospital I went to

Called me by the name I had chosen.

Why was the first time I felt

Like I was being seen as a boy

When I was in danger?

I had surgery.

I came out with a part of me

That I never wanted

Missing.

I felt free.

Why did I feel the most like a boy

When I was in hospital

For an ovarian cyst?

I started HRT in 2023.

I get my shot once every two weeks.

I move further from feeling like a boy

And more like something else.

I am comfortable.

I am free.

I am happy.

I am not a woman.

I am not a man.

I am not what I expected to be when I first told

My family

I was a boy.

But boyhood has been the kindest to me.

And I love

The thing I have grown into

Because of it.

I am closer to boyhood

Than I thought possible

As a child

And I love my life

Within the nuance

Of my identity.

Maybe I was a boy once.

But I no longer cling to the boy I was.

I am myself

As I am meant to be.

My identity lies within

The nuance

Of my person

And I am free.