"Forgiveness is not a tidy grave."

Roux. 30. They/them. Poetry.

[write-the-poem]

It’s two am and I’m quietly thinking about the shadow of your mouth pressed against mine.

It’s two am and the heat of my blankets is nothing compared to the heat of your fingers against my shallow drumming heart.

I love you the way a six year old loves those enormous rainbow lollipops,

That is to say,

I love you for hours on end and I simply can’t focus on much else because you taste too good.

I’m trying to pour the light of my heart into a new beginning, A wicker basket full off all my hopes lining the edge of my bedspread like stars and I promise I’ll share them. But only with you. Good god, I, I love you.

I decided the other day that I was going to climb up into the sky,

build a ladder to the moon,

And make us a tree house there,

Where nothing else matters.

[write-the-poem]

I often don't feel like a person. I feel like an echo of an echo of an echo,

Like you could crawl inside all the empty caves inside me and you would find nothing there but frost.

My brain is a jumper cable. Frying, frying, frying, shocking and flailing and failing,

My favorite ear worm lately has been temperature by Sean Paul. I don't know why, but it's been in there for weeks now.

My brain just does that. Sometimes it does it with words. Things I can't unhear. Things I wake up hearing.

The manic manic manic inside my brain is like a fire. Raging inside me as I struggle to get out of bed for just a moment, my depression smothering my motivation like damp heat, I fall back asleep. I've slept for 16 hours.

There is a chasm inside me yawning open, a torch that went out, the towel damp with oil still, I haven't showered in nine days. My friend tells me I can wipe myself down with baby wipes when I have too much anxiety to shower, but that just makes me feel pitiful. My anxiety makes me feel pitiful.

I carve bruises into my fingers, fists clenched tightly inside my mouth, I am constantly thinking about everything I should and shouldn't have said at any given moment, so. I go back to sleep.

My depression curls up to my back, warm and safe and familiar, I don't know how to shake it, how to break it, how to end the burning burning manic manic manic. I'm drowning in this ocean, so I sleep, so I sleep.

[write-the-poem]

I love you like a storm.

Like dawn breaking,

Waves crashing,

Bathed in moonlight.

Every second of you is like seeing light for the first time,

It spills out of you.

I light up with it just talking about you.

I'm afraid of so many things.

I'm afraid of long distances, and big spiders, and being not alone, but lonely.

You make the world less lonely.

I take little pieces of your sunlight with me everywhere I go and I know,

I'm never alone.

You're like the first gulp of fresh air after holding your breath for too long,

That first warm smell of spring,

When everything is beginning to thaw.

I've never known a light that pure,

That golden,

That radiant.

I love you like the tide kissing the sand every night,

Over

And over.

[drearydaffodil]

Three books this weekend and

It’s only Saturday, my wayward

Thoughts seem to get in trouble

When left too long untamed

I only read the happy endings

I only search for resolution

These are stories I cannot

Control–art imitates life

Again, a vicarious thrill in

The silver linings of someone

Else, I am just lemon juice and

Paper cuts carving India ink

An out-of-body experience is

Always the answer when your

Inferiority complex strikes again

Coughing up feathers, flying away

[worldsinmywords]

my god hates me. my god climbed out her window last night and threw pebbles up through mine. my god sings me to sleep. my god picked a cherry tree clean in the empty light of morning and sat in the shade for the afternoon, sucking out the red from the pits. my god pressed her forefinger into the mountainsides to make the valleys. my god dug trenches and filled them up with seawater. my god invented yearning. my god invented infatuation. my god kissed me on the mouth. she did it again. she did it again.

[thegoodvybe]

[spilled-wordss]

“It’s terrifying, isn’t it? That even love isn’t always enough.”

—

[bandaidsfortheheart]

“I tried to write an apology. After all, every tornado takes two masses of air. So it wouldn’t be fair to lay the blame on you. At least, that’s what I used to believe. After all, I’ve seen my own share of stormy weather. But as it turns out I didn’t contribute to this particular storm. I just got swept up in your destruction. I cannot write you an apology because the words do not feel genuine. There is only one thing I am not proud of. So this is my apology: I am sorry for not loving myself enough to leave sooner.”

— Sorry, V.P.

[thursdaysshepard-deactivated202]

- what is?

[requiem-on-water]

“The difference between a garden and a graveyard is only what you choose to put into the soil.”

— Rudy Francisco, Helium

[wordsnquotes]

“Sometimes, I’m the mess. Sometimes, I’m the broom. On the hardest days, I have to be both.”

— Rudy Francisco

[dephus]

“I’m still learning to love the parts of me that no one claps for.”

— Rudy Francisco

[write-the-poem]

I feel like an empty shell an empty space a hollow hole a burned down house

With nothing but the memory of a foundation.

[kieranking]

“He was born in the wrong body, he’s a girl who wants to be a boy.”

Is this body not my body? Are the creaking bones and soft flesh not mine? Every drop of blood spilled, every flowering bruise, are these things not me?

This is my body. I do not love it, I do not take care of it, but it is mine. I compress it, I don’t feed it as I should, I push it to its limits and abuse the lungs and the skin. I cut the hair and bite the lips raw. This body is my body.

Dysphoria (noun)- a state of unease or generalized dissatisfaction with life

Not dysphoria (noun)- a boy born in a girl’s body, a girl who wants to be a boy, wrong flesh and misshapen bones and a voice that is not what it is meant to be. An accident that will cost thousands of dollars and a lifetime of tears to fix. Wrong wrong wrong.

This body is my body, and it is the only body I will ever live in. These are the only hands I will ever touch with, the only eyes that I will use to see the world. I will shape it to my will, sculpt it like clay. But I will not get a new one. It will always be mine.

A cage is a cage until you make it a home. Until you open the windows and let in the breeze. Until you paint the walls and fill it with music.

My body is my cage. My body will be my home. My body is mine. Mine mine mine.

-e.a.m.

[transjemder]

Ode To My Unlived Boyhood        

Ode to the boy who never had the words to why He wouldn’t wear a 

           dress to the daddy-daughter dance

           who always sang the wrong parts of the boy/girl preschool choir

           & who loved (and loved and loved and loved) boys almost as much as he

              longed to Be one

Ode to His (not yet a His) long curly hair (too often touched and pulled)

           to His round dimpled cheeks (too often squeezed and cooed over)

          & to His long lashes

                                                                      (they were beautiful once, He is told)

Ode to the no’s said by brothers and fathers and peers

          to the “because you’re a girl"s

          to the “that’s not lady-like"s

          & to the word “tomboy” said like an excuse

                                                                              (And a Prayer)

Ode to the anger and putrid jealousy that still pollutes His Heart a decade later

         to the bitterness and bile that rises when He’s told how “beautiful” He “was”

         & to the scars and scabs on His knees and knuckles, the tenderness of His

            aching ribs

                                         (the prizes of earning a manhood He was never given)

Ode to the boy that Was

                                                                                  (& was not allowed to Be)

[gogh-save-the-bees]

Poem by me // art by me (Don’t repost, use without permission or delete my caption!)

[microwavedrawings]

It is important to visit that place inside of you

Where spirits dance with the strings of your soul.

Connecting your heart back to the places where your thoughts got lost.

No fear lies here

No hate lies here

This is where you will breakdown

This is where you will rise up

This is where you will find hope

This is where you will find answers

Visit this place.

Again and Again.

For it is here where the sun meets the moon, kindling sparks only your two eyes can see

It is here where the stars find comfort in the depths of the sky.

It is here where you will find the most beautiful thing….

Yourself.