Posts for June 7, 2020 (page 3)

My body is a brooding teenager
In spirit only, unfortunately
Resisting all ideas for improvement and
Pleas for mercy
Staying up far too late
Keeping its secrets
Loud and unruly
A real bully

You should see someone about that
Oh the doctors!
They find the most tactful ways
To describe my real affliction
I’m NUTS
I gotta be careful around those too
Especially in the evenings

You should see someone about that then
These poor therapists
Who are barely hanging in there
The last one nodded off as I spun
A tale of abuse
No thanks, I’ll handle this
On my own

My body knows better than I do
It’s the only one being honest
About how I feel
Convincing folks, including myself
That I’m doing just fine?
That’s my job

Still in the
shade, peering
around the
corner. What
does the next
turn have in
store for
me? I can
already hear
the crashing
of a distant
shore. Will
the lillies still
be at my side?
What waits
in the width of
an afternoon?

Realizing you caught yourself slipping into a cycle of unhinged purging
The hardest thing to do is say no when your lungs fail 

Remember the old place with the vine-covered wall? We’d ride our bikes the two miles along the rutted, sun-baked dirt road from the small village our parents raised us in, quiet so the old woman who lived in the house behind the brick barrier wouldn’t hear us, or so we hoped. The oldest of us girls would steady a bike so the youngest could climb up on the saddle and pick from the apple trees whose branches hung over to seduce us into petty theft. One piece only for each of us, and I remember as we rode away that I’d turn and wave, mouthing my thanks on our behalf. Thieves we might have been, but raised with manners and gratitude.  

With the years, I fully believed she saw and heard us, and didn’t understand why she never called out to chastise, or came by to tell our mothers. Two young girls changed that for me today, thinking-hoping I didn’t see them, lithe as silent deer as they crossed my yard to each take an apple fallen from its branch. This is why our boldness was forgiven without mention: We were aiding and abetting an old woman’s memories of being young.

Writing was difficult enough
before, but now it’s gotten
trickier: how to dive in
without being pulled
under completely, choked
with anxiety, rolled over
by waves of grief and despair.

In dreams I claw
at my throat, unable to draw
breath, unable to cry
out, minute after minute
after minute with no welcome
darkness rising in release,
and that is the worst part.

yesterday I swam in the river
I found the path
the trail which led down
I dreamed last week of swimming in the ocean
and since, I have had the desire
to be immersed in natural water
therefore I took the opportunity
seized the day, so to speak
and swam out, carried by the current
I floated, looking up into the sky
alone, on a waterway which eventually leads to the gulf
alone, totally alone and I felt an overwhelming joy
surprising myself but not really
how often am I afforded the chance
me and the palisades
just me, alone

His yell piercing
Salivating each word
Anger unfounded
His display absurd

“Defiant”
“A bitch”

Scum
Inexcusable 

She will not stop
She will rise
Her courage rare
No longer a compromise

Two years ago, I was where the ocean meets Mississppi
training in the deep south summer
in the larvae stage of the next six years of my life
someone I’ll never see again asked
” why aren’t you a woman?”
it took me two days and nights to let it sink in
but the trigger had been set
it was time
that question couldn’t be left unanswered
so events lead to this
finding a counselor I can trust on the other side of town 
and she asks me
“So, i like to keep things open ended and it seems you’ve done your homework so where would you like to start?”

when I was a kid
I could hop the chain-link fence like a real pro
never losing sight of the other side
the open spaces became foot-holds
until like the neighborhood cats I perched low on top, for balance 
and whoosh land on my feet

I would pretend I was a sky-diver 
or a jedi knight jumping into action, into the unknown with purpose
it was one of the few things I could do well then
that and climbing trees, the heights never bothered me 
I would find a fit branch and take it all in 
I must’ve seemed odd then 
but these things left no sense of shame 
not like the first time I was shown the difference 
between boys and girls, and never to hop that fence
no matter how much I wanted to
so I became two people 

I learned very quickly how sight can be distorted
when you’re too close to a chain link fence 
and no matter how often they told me how we were all supposed to act
I never did remember the script, I flubbed my lines
I was sensitive, dramatic and gentle
I was too used to being quiet and too obedient for my own good
I couldn’t give less of a shit what was underneath the hood of your tractor
preferring to help my grandmother around the house
even if she didn’t really need it at the time
my folks weren’t blind they could see the writing 
they just wouldn’t accept the wisdom 
not grandmother though 
she knew even then
the change was already gonna come 
and she never stopped loving, regardless

I did my best to fit in 
just couldn’t bear the disapproval
so i manifested my wants into vocational dreams
a director! a writer! an archaeologist! a cartoonist!
just anything but myself on planet earth
I wanted to make memories not reality
but to my peers i was nothing more than second string
an easy target
so under under the radar I stayed
even when the coast was clear

Throughout my youth  I never understood why I was out-of-place, only that I was and of course that does nothing to stop the constant flac from all sides about being Gay, Queer, Trans or Lesbian from the people I least wanted to dissapoint.

It took a long time for me to realize who I was
what was going on
to see myself and the stereotypes they used to frighten me
that there was no debt to be paid to their hatred and the lies I tried so hard to live

“So”, the counselor finally asked 
after an hour of back and forth, in-beween her understanding air  
” your experiences are very similar to other trans patients I’ve seen, so, what about being trans fits for you, makes sense to you…”
at first it’s like the feeling you get when you may have flunked a test-or passed 
but, if you climb the tree
just high enough
step back from the chain-link fence
just far enough to get a running start  
you’ll see the million ways of being human
feel yourself in that multitude
you’ll see the crossroads and know you are not alone
that all your years of hurt and confusion, attempts to fit in
feeling like a clown in your own skin
all point to this, to thine own self be true

well, now here comes the fun part
and WHOOSH! you stick your landing just right!

Underneath the trees, cicadas sang

I’m most in love with myself at work.
To see exactly what needs to be done
in solving whatever problem, big or small,
to gain understanding of all the tools
I can use to achieve a goal,
to find those oh so subtle improvements today
making tomorrow go just that little bit smoother
and watching people learn trust
from hearing me say
I believe this will work
to seeing it happen before their eyes
because the concrete logic contained
within the parameters of the job
can only lead to one conclusion,
it’s exhilerating.

Then I come home
and the problems are social, emotional,
relational, national,
political, spiritual
abounding in misunderstanding,
misinformation, misrepresentation,
misremembrance,
intangible liquid ghostlike
unable to be proved
and easily squashed by the opinion
of one far more confident than I.
Turns out,
I don’t really know anything at all.