here is a poem about being non-binary and exhausted.
lots of tw’s for the description bc i go into my life lots and my life has been horrid for the past few weeks: illness, caps, suicidal thoughts, abuse mention (marked), gaslighting (marked)
content warnings for poem: binarism & transphobia implied, effects of depression
to skip description click here. take care of urselves please ❤
(yes, i know it’s been three weeks since i last posted sorry)
i managed to get sick last week (in the middle of may. honestly) and that tired me out so much. then i also decided to low key have a break down last last sunday (5/21) involving:
i always feel on the edge of a meltdown lately so that’s just fantastic isn’t it
also my therapist (i have a therapist now, i may have forgotten to mention this, how does my blog even work) got sick last wednesday (5/24?) and i couldn’t see her which was Fun and Exciting. right before finals! hurrah!!
[tw gaslighting, abuse] also my mom doesn’t think my abuse was real. she’s been trying to talk to me but how the hell is that supposed to happen when she’s gaslighting the hell out of me. fuck. [end tw]
but we read two poems in our lit class. one was sestina by elizabeth bishop and the other was ode to sadness by pablo neruda (i’ve said this before [on twitter] and i’ll say it again: poc poets are 1230898798787x better than white ones). i didn’t like sestina much but ode to sadness is so, so good. here’s a link.
a poet lives here. no sadness may cross this threshold.
this poem is kind of like that. fuck you, sorrow.
i am tired and exhausted of
your endless binaries.
the line between girl and boy
isn’t a boundary i recognize
even though you point me toward
just one side.
i’m the one on the ground,
existing in the graveyard you’ve buried in mud.
you’re not the one here,
not the one fighting.
you can’t see that i’m not
balancing on a wicker tightrope but
don’t call me brave or
my story sad. get out, throw your pity
to the wind and your tongue out the
window. use your words
somewhere else. it’s not my job
to get you back on your feet, not now: i have
every right to stay angry, for
you are attacking the beating of my heart.
with the muck in which i am mired
i have created beauty. i revel
in this swamped wetness.
i root myself in your hollow earth.
here are my hinterlands.
here is who i have become.
i come from underneath
the things you thought you knew
and i overthrow them.
inhaling is hard when your world
questions my reality, but i will breathe the
shit out of your air.