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a week of shitty poetry
04/25/2015
longhairedpoet // princessn0body
a poetry zine
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content warning: addiction, birth, murder, suicide
Im sorry Im this wayI feel like a burden, what can I say?Born of
a mother who says I almost killed her with the shoulders I
hate.Abandoned by a father who fought addictions he couldnt
satiate.Adopted by a man who doesnt like the queer way I
behavesibling to a sister who I couldnt saveI want to do right but
who am I to say whats right?I want to be good, but who am I to
fight the good fight?Raised out of the woods by nascar loversraised
bullied into manhood by my dads brothers.A simple kid raised in a
small townCan I claim to be more than a clown?I make people laugh
so they wont see the tear stains on my faceAlways do I wonder, Do I
belong in this place?I feel like some big clumsy abomination - like
in a movie tropeso big and awkward, making too much noise, wishing
for love without hope.I speak persistence, allowing optimism to
flow from my mouth freely,but honestly I feel like I dont belong,
really.What use is a country music fan in a world where Taylor
Swift and Miley Cyrus write pop songs?What use is a metal head,
with hair so long?What use is a trans woman? The sisters of mine
they cant murder they push to suicide.And yet to not confront the
violent is to hide.and what use is a person who hides?what use is a
person who lies -in bed alone at night and in the morning and in
the afternoon,tossing and turning, the sound of my atrophy its own
tune.I feel out of place, unattractive and uncool.A big blathering
idiot, an overly-opinionated fool.
man of the houseBeing the man of the house means defending
everyone and everything else, even at the detriment of
yourself.Being the man of the house means bulking up. Doing
push-up, lifting weights.Being the man of the house means lifting
heavy things.Being the man of the house means peeing standing
up.Being the man of the house means doing the dirtier jobsBeing the
man of the house means taking responsibility, even when you didnt
do it.Being the man of the house means not getting to paint your
nailsBeing the man of the house means having a buzz cutBeing the
man of the house means wearing boxers.I want to protect and defend
and fight for the people I loveBut I never wanted to be a man,
especially when I was only a child.Only a child who dreamed of
wearing the clothes my sister tossed aside for her tom-boy
tendencies.Only a child who dreamed of being a housewife.Only a
child who dreamed of being Lizzie McGuire.Only a child who watched
Kim Possible, Thats So Raven and Legally Blonde.Now more often than
not I feel simply like a genderless blobI think sometimes that I
could identify as Agenderbut for me it feels like a lieonly one
gender feels like home but most days it feels like a burnt down
thing stolen away from me year after year.Floating through life
looking for something to fill me up but instead I just feel empty.I
try to do good and be good but I feel empty.I try to make people
happy but I feel empty.I try to love but I feel empty.I want to cry
but all that comes out are smiles.I want to weep but all that comes
out are laughs.Apologetic about the way that I am, I wish I was
better.I know I need to get better.The world doesnt deserve the
messy way I am.The world deserves better.
content warning: death, alcohol, melanomamelanomaIt isnt the
melanoma that scares me. Ive lost people Ive loved before.It isnt
the thought of death that keeps me awake at night.Its the thought
of watching two of the proudest, strongest people I knowTrying to
hold on to their prideTrying to hold on to their strengthIts the
thought of being there for them when they break down,As if Id want
to be anywhere else.Its watching them cryIts getting them through
this loss Its waiting for that that scares me the most.Its the beer
and the alcohol and all the ways we deal with death.Its the button
down shirts without proper jackets and ties because we respect the
dead but we find all of that frivolous.Its worrying how his dads
death will affect my sick uncle.Its the realization that melanoma
runs in the familyIf it eats my grandpa the way it ate my
great-grandpa who will it consume next, and when?Its the softer
side of me that doesnt understand how the world goes on after a
death.Great men to me were common men to the rest of the world, and
death happens every day.But my dad always taught me that those we
love live on in us And its a lot to carry, to give life to the
people I loved who have died.Its a burden I carry with pride.For
everyone dies, but does anyone deserve to be forgotten?
content warning: depression, mental healthShe wraps her arms
around me when were alone,She says, No one loves you but me.She
wraps her arms around me when were with friends,she says, They dont
love you like I do.In the morning as my alarms ring in succession
she wraps me in my comforter and says, Dont go to work, stay here
with me.She pulls me into bed when I get home. She encourages me to
not eat real food. Just stay in bed with me. she says.She never
goes to classes, she doesnt have a job.Her name is depression.And I
blare music in the morning to drown out her criesI hug my friends
so she cant pull me away from themI say I love you and I hear I
love you - and she cant stop it.I go to work, and feel fulfilled, I
get paid, I make more than money, shes not their to stop me.I play
Netflix at night to keep her quiet.Sometimes my dreams are poisoned
into nightmares - she tries to punish me.But we both know its
temporary - because in 22 years, even if it took 20 hours -Ive
always gotten out of bed.Ive always found something to cook, or a
shower to take, or a walk to go on.Shes tough but shes made me
tougher.She fights but Ill fight harder.She wins battles but Im out
to win the war.Where she runs Ill fly.Where she dwells I wont
live.Where she schemes I act.And thats the difference between her
and I,she depends on my inactionI thrive on my action.
content warning: gun mention, death mention, depressionfavorite
day dreamMy favorite day dream is the one where I deep throat the
business end of some gun. Gripping it in my hand.Feeling the way
that for once I control my life. Ive never wanted to die Ive just
wanted to feel like Ive had control of my life.My life feels like a
constant series of situations that spiral out of control.My life
feels like hearing the same lies on different days.My life feels
like the first skip on your favorite cdMy life feels like the last
fuzzy pop of a radios speakers giving out.Even in loving people I
feel a painMy heart ripping and tearing wearing away.Everyone
leaves - everything falls apart. It isnt poetic it just sucks and
it hurts and maybe sometimes I do wanna die.Because I feel like Im
never gonna have control of this shitty life Ive been forced to
live.I suppose I just suffer from premature melancholy.Afraid of
the crash even when I still have both tires still planted on the
groundBut then the handlebars start to swerve in my hands and my
heart starts to race and I know the crash is inevitable.I flip over
the handlebars and land neck first in the dirt.And as bad luck
would have it my neck doesnt snap, I dont even hit a sharp rock.Im
fine.Im alive.Fuck.And if I dont get up I have to listen to people
drone on about getting up and going onbut getting up means going on
and honestly, who has time for that?I claw my way out of the dirt
with a heavy sighwondering what the point is.
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