(Watched an episode of Planet Earth II on the airplane back to SLC, and was inspired by a segment about Pisonia, a tree that produces sticky barbed seeds that cling to birds in hopes of spreading to more islands)
come to me in springtime little bird
lay your egg in my branches, i made a crook just for you
and though other birds may come steal your child while you feed,
though you return to the yolk dripping down the branch
feeding the hungry earth,
though you still reset your body atop the never-will-be bird
staining your feathers yellow and wet,
lay another one please.
let this one grow up to eat tiny fish from your beak
and when it is old enough to fly, may it take a seed
with it to other isles as you did,
so my children will grow up on distant shores
i only want what any parent wants for a child
i want the reason why you come to this island
so can you blame me if my overeager seeds
have rendered your child flightless upon the forest floor?
never mind the shame of it all
your child will feed the hungry earth
upon which my children will grow
and the children of yours that did survive
they will return and nest in my children
or, FOMO for the Holidays
Content warning for suicide ideation, abusive relationships, and internalized biphobia
I met up with some friends from high school this afternoon, and I spent around twenty minutes in the bathroom standing on the sink having a panic attack. I honestly considered hanging myself from a length of chain that extended from a wheel in the ceiling (it was a nice bathroom. Spacious with some natural light coming in from the top).
It’s hard when you’re the saddest person at the table. I was shaking when I arrived at the cafe and it only got a bit better when I chatted with one friend about Overwatch instead of a) the future or b) relationships.
Which brings me to my main point. I am currently dating a cis man as an AFAB non-binary person, which translates to us passing as a heterosexual couple in most people’s eyes. And I’m immensely happy in my relationship because he’s respectful of my boundaries (my sex aversion) and supportive of me, but there’s a part of me that’s angry/wistful/maddened at the fact that two of my friends are in sapphic relationships and I am not.
Because fuck, I suffered for my sexuality. I came out to my mother as bisexual a total of five times before it finally stuck, and a few days ago we had our first honest conversation about my being bi and the possibility of me being with a woman in the future, but I think a part of that was mitigated by the fact that I am currently in a relationship she can swallow.
So I fell for the first manic-pixie dream girl I met in college. So I wasted six years of my life on-again off-again pining for someone who I eventually cut off contact with because I finally realized that we’d both keep hurting each other. So the person that they liked in high school was at the cafe today. So I’m still not over how a friend was emotionally abusive towards me and another friend for 2 years.
My mom told me that the reason why she doesn’t want me to be queer is because she doesn’t want me to have to fight so hard. And I said, if everyone lived by that logic, there would be no social change because nobody would be brave enough to live as their authentic selves.
And to an extent, I feel like I don’t deserve to be happy. I got too caught up in the struggle for authenticity that I’ve only just recently realized that having a community and having friends are two different things. And I should be happy, I really should. But sometimes it’s hard to separate life from activism, and to know that what I got out of all those years of fighting for who I am lead all the way back around to safe shores.
So the past few months have been hectic. I’m finishing up my senior year, and in addition I am getting published for the first time in an anthology by Dirty Birds Press. The information can be found here.
In addition, I am currently playing around with an ongoing series set in a D&D-esque world with space travel but no aliens (at the start). Not entirely sure if I should be using Tumblr as a main platform and putting writing updates here or AO3 or another way. In any case, stay tuned!
(I wrote this last year as my first spoken word poem that I performed. I’m not very happy with it)
the circuit of the heart
the body is a circuit with the heart as a battery
in order to understand how blood pumps breathing left and returns breathless right
the body is a machine
i try to automize my life but there is little autonomy in the bloodline
the pump to move a name through generations
biological like the selfish genes that jump through kernels and make a mosaic out of corn
(I wrote this during the student protests in April)
Side A: bulldog days
It was time for the preview, the carnival, the sales pitch for those still blessed with the simplicity of choice. The entire bay was aglow with fairy lights, and soft choral music hummed in every corner. You were told to polish each grain of sand until it shone like a speck of gold, a potential pearl, until your hands wore raw ribbons of ruby red.
They dumped confetti onto the shoreline, covered the garbage with glitter and framed the stench on the dogwood trees. The Smilers came out of their shadowed nooks in the trees, teeth gleaming white, palms dry as chalk as they shook each and every hand. Their enamel made you remember, enabled that past so often repressed, when you were also small and scurried and told yourself this white powder in the air was sugar and not salt.
It did not take long for you to develop a resting bitch face standing next to them. You needed it, to prove to the others like you that you were not like them, the newcomers, so fresh-faced and eager and whose hands unknowingly stained the scenery, meticulously laid out, with pitch, just as your hands stained your work ruby red.
print “hello world”
“Why’s it taking so long?”
“It’s one of those older K-models, you have to modify the program’s code manually and there’s a lot of bugs. Remote control’s still a backdoor solution with this guy.”
“Why don’t you just get a new one? They sell them by the dozen in most supermarkets.”
“I don’t know, I’m so used to doing it this way now. It kind of weirds me out that I can just type in the time and everything else just magically happens, you know? I like it this way; I know exactly what is happening and why.”
“It all looks Greek to me.”
“I’m using Arabic numerals.”