WORMING

Mud, blood and sweat, I put them all in
the merry blender of disgusting despair –
for no one is to see them separated again.
Twisting and turning in my nest at night and day
and when I find a way to dream again, it’s over!
It is all over when my eyes jangle from one
corner to the other, squelching in my sockets,
and the very next morning, they will find me –
after a long and desperate search, that threatened
to be never-ending and unsolvable –
below the creaking floorboards, yes, there I am,
snoring, moaning,
eating and soaking
within the wet
and cold embrace
of the soil.

MY GOD

to preface, i am not religious. at least i am not currently religious.
i used to believe, believe in many things:
people, friendship, love, the world;
ghosts, aliens, god, gravity, climate change, and the rotation of the earth around its own axis, the earth orbiting the sun, you and me orbiting each other never crossing paths.
i still firmly believe in some of these things,
in some others, not so much.
i used to be, not think or believe, god.
the world to play with and work for at my very own fingertips.
i probably wasn't a very benevolent god - or a very malevolent one, for that matter.
perhaps a quite neutral god.
a god washed free and clean of all real responsibility.
for some people it might be blasphemous to consider myself a god as a fleshy squishy and fragile human being.
i don't understand why a god has to be immortal or omnipresent or kind or evil or anything at all.
i don't believe in a god at all.
but i used to pray to one, to pray away the things i saw that nobody else saw, to pray away the things i felt that nobody else felt, to pray away the things i was that nobody else was.
i was haunted by visions that were not mine, by sensations that could not have been true, by emotions that tore me apart which were not for me to possess.
my god was not cruel but she was simply indifferent.
indifferent to my suffering and prayers.
and so i shed my old belief system that caused me so much confusion and pain.
while my extraordinary experiences did not vanish, i have grown a thicker skin, one unblemished by the belief in an entity that could save me.
how can i stop believing when believing in things such as people, friendship, love, the world, has saved me?

how can i stop believing when everyone believing in me has saved me?

and so i will continue to believe

as i will believe in you.

DRAG MONARCH BUTTERFLY

• Dragging your feet along the stained floor, inhaling the midnight smoke sharply between each forced step, you find yourself deeply and profoundly alive.
• You have fought tooth and nail to get where you are standing right now at this second and damn right you’re proud of yourself but oh shit this feels wrong you say under your breath, barely able to keep yourself upright.
• Where have you gone wrong, little willow tree?
• This is exactly what you wanted from the start, and yet you turn your face away from the crowd and stare back to days bygone – are you not satisfied?
• Show some respect, show the world your whole chest that had its heart torn out and put back in the wrong place, show the world what has brought you back and turned you inside out all over again.
• It’s going to be okay and you will be there at the end all the stronger and weaker and lighter and heavier for the better and worse of it all.
• Take it all back take it all from me you beg and plead and nobody hears as you drag your feet along the stained floor.

OH GOOD GRIEF

“Nobody will miss me when I’m gone,
They will leave flowers at my grave, say
a quiet prayer — and exit.”

Unseen, beyond the graveyard, is the pain that sifts through the waves of grief.
The cruel tenderness toward your loved ones by people who knew you but did not love you, a gentle nod of the head, a loving caress across the hand, a sweet kiss on the cheek. All of which to calm their stormy hearts, to quiet the anger and confusion and hurt they feel.

And then, the music that they hear in their minds when they listen to a song you liked, the fragrance entering their senses when they smell the perfume you once wore, the film that plays just by the mere mention of your name. And those tears will well up in their eyes every time they think of you, and everything and everyone you had left behind.

They will think of deeds, ones good, ones bad; and they will think of the brown color in your eyes, the tight embrace you gave whenever you met (again), the sound of your shrill laughter at a terrible pun. They think of you. They think of you, wherever you are: here, there, over yonder, somewhere, gone, never to be seen again.

And they miss you so very much.

On Gender

For somebody who has a B.A. in Current English Linguistics and Literary Studies, I sure don't have much to say. JK! This will be updated in the future. Keep a look out!

Here's a list of some amazing authors I'd cite though: Halberstam, Butler, Lorde, Sontag, Rich, etc. :-)