Posts for June 22, 2021 (page 5)

I can’t breathe tonight,

feeling the bars of this cage around me,

knowing danger is only a confession away.

I’m still loved by everyone we know

as long as I don’t reveal my secret.

What would I place on the altar

to be free to be myself?

Not you,

not your relationship

with your conservative family.

Some nights I feel hunted

like a pilot behind enemy lines.

Nodding and smiling

as others say ugly, transphobic things.

And it’s not that I want to

kick down the closet door

tomorrow.

But it’s knowing that I can’t,

that I might not ever,

that makes the air in here

feel stifling.

I don’t hate my life

but I don’t love it like I could.

I feel less comfortable in this skin

than I used to.

I long for everyone

to call me

by my girl name.

I want to wear dresses every day.

I want to take that deep breath

of freedom

that’s always just out of reach.

I’m so anxious.

I’m so scared of the people I love.

Of love turning to

abandonment.

I still feel sick inside

like the child whose father

always said that he’d leave.

“You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

And they’ll miss me when I’m gone.

No one will want the new me.

A world of slammed, locked doors.

I don’t know that I’m strong enough for that.

And I can’t drag you down with me.

On good days,

I can imagine

a girl

who’s beautiful and free.

On days like this,

I sit and shake on the bed,

knowing there’s no way out for me,

no easy answers.

And I’m so tired of lying

to protect myself.

I’d like to tell my mother

that I’m going to a transgender conference in November

and if she wants me to run the business

she’ll keep her mouth shut.

I want to tell your family

I can’t swim in their pool

because I have pink toes

and they cost me too damn much

to take the polish off this soon.

I wish I could be seen

and even celebrated

at my happiest

and most beaufiful.

I wish so many

of my favorite parts of me

didn’t have to stay

hidden away.

And it’s so overwhelming to think about

like my childhood terrors

trying to grasp the concept

of eternity.

I can’t wrap my mind around

the word “never.”

Or the idea that all my joy

is stolen,

at the expense of

someone else’s comfort.

Or that my grandparents

would have been ashamed

like my father was.

I don’t have one of those shiny, happy

trans testimonies

where everyone comes around in the end.

What I have is nausea

every time I think about

truly getting what I want.

I don’t want what I want.

I’m not strong enough to stay the course.

So I bounce between

what I want

and what I hate.

And sometimes

I just get so dizzy.

the shadows in this world
could never stand against the sun

all the pieces sewn together 
could never make a whole

gathered in a single space
together in the chosen place

captured and enamored
by promises unkept

hidden shards 
that cut deep

broken aspects
only add to hurt

The days shorten, light and leaves
go golden, and the haunting cries
of migrating geese float over the trees.

Our grey gander stands near the pond,
beak tipped to the sky. Other grey and white
heads lift, tilt to catch the receding notes.

Long after the rest have returned
to grazing, the gander remains
gazing north. He stretches his wings

and takes a few steps, as if calculating
the mechanics of the journey, then turns
back to resume his watch.

[I don’t want to make this a habit, but yesterday was Quite A Day, and I was too tired to post this.]

Constancy

There was a noise—a silence even—
that would not go away. What was the last thing

you searched for? It’s always the first
day of something, something ungraspable

and a little distorted, that draws back
whenever you begin to get close.

1
rise like a rocket
tell him to make his 
own sandwich 

2
pink glitter
what’s it good for ?
don’t paint your doll
face with pain 

3
don’t be beautiful 
be enormous 
take up space… be on
the spectrum see the
world in kaleidoscope

March passed again,
and I did not trim back
the roses. They grow
lopsided and through
the porch railing,
prickly, blooming limbs
that brush the rocking
chairs. The lizards avoid
them, their heads periscopes
from ever-widening cracks
in the front porch. Paint
peels from railings I never
finished painting, and cats
watch it all from the living
room picture window.
Their noses streak the glass.
I understand the appeal
of curb appeal, but moved
here to avoid it. Now
Chip and Joanna Gaines
have infected the whole
neighborhood and Joe’s not
weird for obsessively
manicuring his rented lawn.
But I bet nobody else
on this block has volunteer
cucumbers maurading
the patch of garden they let
go wild this year. Isn’t that
a wonder: maurading
volunteer cucumbers!

Blue Lake beans
picked from orange pots
crunch for the dinner salad

Earth sign.
Stubborn goat, born
in winter when water’s
solid. Lately, I am learning
to flow. 

Honeysick and aching,

Ages, years ago,
you gifted me a tiara,
all spun silver and ivory gems
(the kind you could afford then,
but I didn’t and don’t mind)
like you knew I preferred to gold.

I hope you forgive that a gem
(or two) has eased its way out,
that the worn metal bends where
there once were sloping lines,
that nearly every crevice dons dust,
that the weight of your gift has graced
my head only a handful of times.

I’m not really one for
frilly dresses or twinkling tiaras,
but please know that yours sits
as a scintillating star on my highest shelf,
glowing overhead so that
its presence may soothe me.

So that when I look upon the stars,
I recall your beloved tiara,
this motif of endless, shimmering silver.