Stoned.

“I will hold you” I say. Thinking they’ll pull me up from the other side.

They keep me for a time, until that time when they’ve climbed as high as they can… as they want to, with me.

I am the bridge of happiness, forged in grief and despair. I collapse only under the weight of myself, while the burden of others’ fortifies me.

I resent them, after a time. I built this bridge, lustrous, expansive, nigh indestructible.

I resent myself, actually. My flaw is being flawless.

I can carry any weight that is not my own.

I am the stepping stone to happiness.

I will help you find yourself, through happiness or pain. I don’t know how to ask for the same, but I rust away.

Weather worn, I will be a monument to emotional baggage, the envy of airports.

I am the stepping stone. You’re grateful when you need me. And only when you need me.

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Clinging.

You’ll have to pull it from my cold, dead fingers. All the vigor of the rigor, the intensity of my loathing still burning in my cold eyes.

I won’t let go.

I had to let go of the hope of not being afraid of my father as a child.

I had to let go of being loved by my family because I was gay.

I had to let go of all the slurs, that now paint my back like an oil slick.

I had to let go of being outcast by my peers in my formative years.

I had to let go of Jeremy breaking my heart.

I had to let go of so many hopes and dreams.

Fuck you. I will not let go. Not of him. Not of the memory of feeling my whole self. I won’t let go. I have nothing else.

I am formed by the voids these things have left in me. If I let go of him, I am afraid, that I’ll finally fade into nothing.

And so I cling. Not to him, but to life. To that feeling of fullness.

You wouldn’t know how empty I feel. The desperation. The dread. You may sympathize, but you’ll never know. You didn’t live my story.

He was my sunshine, and he made me happy when skies were grey. Please don’t take my sunshine away.

Thankful?

Am I thankful? No.

Not for the childhood fear, saturating my soul, dreams dripping with it decades later.

For the abandonment of family, wistfully neglecting me with their politics, guilting me because they love me unconditionally while I do not reciprocate. No.

For those that I opened my heart to, tender and weary, to have it reduced in a sherry gravy. Sweet, meaty, salty with regret. No.

Am I thankful for the constant loneliness, company kept only by my tears. No.

You want me to be thankful that the sun still rises each day? Do you know what I see in that sunrise? Another 24 hours of struggling to live, pretending to care about the emptiness of this life. I have no more purpose to assign.

I was thankful once, for someone that gave purpose to all the hurt in my life. And he left me. You do not get to say whether or not it is healthy, when your thanks are rooted in white supremacy.

Go, now, and be thankful elsewhere.

Hope is for fools

And why hope
When it is equal chance happiness
And hurt

It’s as if you purposefully poured
The boiling water on your hand
And called it tea

Why create a feast of hope
For those starving for sustenance
And tell them to be grateful

Why do we fool ourselves into hoping
To avoid despair
While inviting it in through the side door?

Why am I drunk on my foolishness
Hoping for a different outcome
Hoping.

Dylan, fresh

In broken voice

I whisper my truth

Tongue heavy with the weight

Words like pack mules

Carrying the burden of trauma

Excavating bits of dismembered heart

Exhuming old selves

The search for the arc of the covenant

Of my soul

Tears rolling down my cheek

Raindrops on windows

“I am trying, but there is no joy.”

Takotsubo

“You are too sad. I cannot help you.”

Under the pressure of suffocating atmospheres

Beneath the depths of a crushing ocean

Dragged deeper still by gravity

I reach out

And you said no.

Night thoughts 

The darkness claws at my sides, I hide under a blanket of loneliness. Where is my wizard, my prince? I cast wards in ways of dreams, safe spaces to see you. Again. Still. My body aches from these mountains on my back. I am waning, waiting to wax. I am bloated, full of you. This night will not break, and the light is harsh. Where is my new moon?

Cuttings 

You warmed the bladeBecause you didn’t want me to feel the cold 

You pressed the diamond-sharpened tip

Every so gently to my breast 

The pressure like a piercing caress

Because you didn’t want me to feel pain 

You told me that you loved me

But weren’t happy

To numb me to pain

You wept and the hilt hit bone

Because you knew you you betrayed me

And the only way for you to escape 

Was a magic eight ball and a coke

“share with daniel” on its label 

The room where I gave my heart 

To build your stage 

Gaslit 

You are now the words I write

And I will with the same care you took

Breaking my heart