apparently
what i needed this morning
to feel a little more like
myself
was not writing
or poetry
or even coffee
it was a cat
purring as loudly as a geiger counter
on my lap
apparently
what i needed this morning
to feel a little more like
myself
was not writing
or poetry
or even coffee
it was a cat
purring as loudly as a geiger counter
on my lap
looking back on words
i’ve written before
[i’ve written just now]
and not believing
that was me
that was me
kip and i have been adding
“for the resistance”
to the end of any task we do
because keeping our
queer
mentally ill
trans
asses
alive
is 100% part of the resistance
so we are making bagels
for the resistance
and taking lovely walks
for the resistance
and playing video games
for the resistance
and writing poetry
for the resistance
and loving each other
for the resistance
and loving ourselves
for the resistance
it is resisting everyone who says we don’t belong
on this planet
that clearly holds us close
and loves us
that we do
for the
resistance
my massage therapist’s fingers
find space between my ribs
where before there was resistance
and knots
and no way of going through
and she breathes a sigh of relief
as my body returns to
what it should be
rather than holding all the stress
of the whole world
in my muscles
and knotting up the nerves along with it
and i walk away refreshed
but also, of course, worried —
how long will it take for my body to collapse back
to the shape it’s been in
for nearly a month now?
and will pain ever be a thing
i am
without?
i don’t understand
how everyone isn’t a poet —
we live in words every day,
as long as we are connecting
with another human,
more often than not
it is through
words
words means talking
jabbering
messaging
writing
yelling
ordering
requesting
helping
explaining
informing
sometimes even thinking
and pondering
and reading
for fun
we live in the world of words —
we deal with them day in and day out;
unless you don’t think in them,
and don’t see another soul all day long,
or work/play/study/learn in a
physical environment
[dance/sport/fight-type-place/
physical labor/
or dealing with animals],
you are probably sitting in words
all day
every day
i think we’re all poets
anyway
i feel my ability
to create
has been sucked dry
by a cabinet that has yet
to even take power
and i don’t want to let it
the universe deserves art
art is what makes life worth living
it doesn’t even have to be spectacular, world-paradigm-shifting/
perspective-altering/makes-you-see-new-colors-on-earth
great
art
it just needs to be art
because every human is creative
and every human deserves to look at something
and feel —
even if that feeling is
‘i want to do that’
for inspiration
or for competition
or for proving something —
art takes humanity,
splits it into a thousand pieces,
and connects every piece of us
back with each other
and even if we only ever see two or three pieces
of ourselves
connect with others in our lifetime,
those pieces continue on:
in your stories to the friends you make later,
in one audience member’s recollection,
in your peers’ inspiration
and on to making their own creations
we all continue to live through our art
because humanity
is connection
and connection
is art
and art
is humanity
and all reversed and back again
and we cannot survive
as a species
without our art, our connection, and our humanity
so please, as defeated as you feel, artists, keep art-ing
i will
i just need to stream these feels into my art
first
and then maybe this poem will reside in the heart of someone else
who will help someone else
continue on
and
on
and
on
it
goes
writing to video game music
feeling the pressure of the world
of life saying
‘you’ve been here before
you’ll get out’
but all i’m hearing is
‘you’ve been here before’
‘you’ve been here before’
‘this has all happened before
and it will happen again’
and i can’t stop my mind from spinning
into the cycles and loop-de-loops
of life
and feeling so dizzy
i want it to stop
i want progress
not necessarily a straight line
but something
more forward moving
than this
constant
back again
back again
back again
it’s like humanity never learns
[and that may be our downfall]
i’m so good
at holding space
for others
when do i learn
how to hold space
for myself?
my poetry skims
from hopeless to full of hope
from desolate depression
to wide eyed optimism
and i know i should really live
in the grey-based reality in-between
but dreamers gotta dream…
‘are you planning on leaving the country?
if so, why?’
a friend asked that
anonymously
of all their trans compatriots,
and i answered based on
healthcare
and preparation,
but my real answer
is more to do with the intersection
of depression
and queerness, which is
‘yes, because how am i supposed to fight
for my own and others’ rights
if i, myself, want to die?’