A Nightmare on Two Parts

I think about identity a lot these days. Some days it’s simple, a list whispered in chronological order, on repeat, a prayer to soothe soul and keep the ghosts at bay

Sensitive

Depressed

Confused

Afraid

Weird

Gay

Bisexual

Afraid

Weird

Different

Genderqueer

Transgender

Weird

Autistic

Anxious

Non-binary

Aromantic

Asexual

Greyromantic

Grey-asexual

Chronically ill 

Nebularomantic

Disabled

Enbian 

Diamoric Queer 

Autiromantic

Unique  

Lost 

Tired

Other times there is room and time to delve deeper

I wonder who I am exactly in this isolation 

If no one hears us scream, do we make a sound? 

What exactly is the identity of a social creature, draped in silks and ribbons, adorned with the language of their people, just waiting for them to read

And what if they don’t?

What if they can’t?

What if the ribbons are only ribbons

And we only have these tears left to cry

How exactly do I go about taping all these labels to my forehead so that you will see and believe? 

Which way do I arrange these words so it matters outside my skin as much as it does within? 

Those of us who are left bleeding, on the outside of sweet safe society 

Those who forgot how to be complacent

Or were never allowed inclusion to begin with

Those who are imminently more vulnerable than me

How do we arrange our guts 

so pretty for you on the chopping block

A bouquet of hearts, blood, and viscera
-And you smile so lovely
Watering your flowers 

Like we were never there

And maybe to you we were not

A myth or mystery 

You fancy it below your station
And who do we, and how do we?

(Can’t you hear the keening?)

Everyone around me is dying

And I am dying too

.

.

.

yet we are still here

Friends
I don’t even know what that means

To be defined within your ghost factory

But I’m trying

I guess I will keep trying

.

I hope you can keep trying 

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