just let me breath this night air a moment
let me remember how to feel joy in my heart
cool night air whispers
whisking away a year and a life of pain
I remember what it means to relish life
to be thankful for the little things
I remember what it means to love you.
I do love you
with every grain of my being
tomorrow we go back to a life worth living
tomorrow we go back to the fight
but just for this brief and shining moment
The fatigue is never ending
bone deep silent screaming
can exhaustion scream?
the weather shifts and my body crumples
weakness like hard cold hands pull me back into this place again
realigned and readjusting
trying not to curse my own name
can you believe I have value with so little productivity?
hands shake from medication and determination
pushing through or laying still
eyes slide over me unseeing
I press my flesh into unreasonable contortions
sticky sweating slow implosion
persevere or something
it’s all the same
I am tapped out. Exhausted. deep exhausted. The kind that rattles your bones and slithers beneath your skin, weighing you down. soul heavy.
Still I knit. knit. knit. gotta earn that grocery money. medicine money. dentist money. Gotta earn my right to live.
I want pizza, a gallon of coffee, to not have to worry about groceries so much, to not feel so guilty about everything.
I want to feel not quite so tired, I want my muscles not to burn all the time.
But I am here in this life, at this time,and this is what life is, so I will watch this show, close my eyes a bit, and keep going.
Knit. knit. knit.
I’m not doing well right now.
I worry about dying, asthma or an infected tooth.
I worry about leaving my family alone.
I worry about being a burden-dragging people down
im so tired of fighting so hard to repeatedly have it come to nothing
I worry I’m giving up, burning out, or burning up
I worry about not being able to work for weeks because the kids and I are sick, because it’s dangerously hot, because I have a toothache
no margin for error
my hands only hold errors and despair
I have intrusive thoughts and don’t know who I’m supppsed to reach out to.
I am to tired to figure it out.
to tired to find the right words, pay the proper respects
to tired to find the bridge
to tired to be the bridge
maybe next week I will be inspiring
maybe next week I will be educational
maybe next week I will be productive
maybe next week I will be worthy
maybe next week I will be proud
today all I have is survival
today all I have is grinding step after step after step
today all I have is that I am here and I wrote this
today that will have to be enough
#30daysofpride: day 9: What subculture do you belong to?*
I have never really fit well into a specific group. In high school I hung out with the punks and stoners but didn’t consider myself a punk or a stoner. I hung out with the academic kids but didn’t keep my grades up at all, and over the years that lack of ease in a specific social group has carried over.
I feel some connection to geek culture, to autistic communities, to non-binary communities, to the disabled community, to the chronic illness community, to transgender communities, to parenting communities, activist communities, multi sexual communities, kink communities, ethical non monogamy communities, art communities, fiber arts communities, literary communities, birth communities, and academic communities. But none of these sub-cultures explain me so thoroughly to leave it at that, to feel comfortable summing myself up as just this one specific thing. Just like everything in this world, each one of those sub groups has problems that need addressed or dealt with.
In reality, just like anyone else I am not one thing, I am many things, I am none of them. I am myself. I am the sum of all my histories and all my futures yet to come.
But I really like Dr Who, so there is that.
*the original question used the word tribe, which is problematic for many reasons. Non indigenous people should not use the word tribe when we mean village or subculture, read more about some of the problems with that word here.
#30daysofpride: day 8: Who is your greatest supporter?
This might be the easiest question to answer so far. The most supportive person in my life is my nesting partner. No one in my life time has been so lovingly supportive and radically embracing of all that I am.
Before I met him I was certain that I would be fundamentally alone for the rest of my life. I joked that I was not fit for human consumption. It seemed impossible to ever meet a person who understood all the ways I never quite fit in. This person has renewed my faith in the power of human connection. Even now, years later, I am daily thankful for his presence in my life. It is better for knowing him. Even when things get stressful or strained, the complexity of living this life, when one of us mess up…I never forget how powerfully thankful I am to have met him, to be in this life with him.
I also have two long distance lovers, queerplatonic-ish or romantic best friends who have always been as supportive as they have been able to be, and they deserve a mention as well.
As well as a network of friends across the very world who help me in every or any way they can. I try to return the support and love any time and any way I am able. I hope I’m a decent friend, even with all my different ways of being.
I am eternally thankful for each one of these spectacular people, and my life as it intertwines with theirs.
My love is unbound
rooted in stars
woven into the very fabric of our universe
my love feathers out through the galaxy
sun and strength and fingertips
I love you eternally
rebirth and death and struggle
I love you ferociously
Sweet, delicious, something
tucked between you and me
my love, my sweet
my body is made of rusted iron and heavy shattered rocks.
my right ankle is a half rotten turnip
my skin throbs
my muscles moan like elder trees in the wind
my head curls in on itself
a half realized defensive posture.
i dont have the energy to cry
cold, dry, despair rolls down my cheeks
whispering its sweet sweet nothings
for more empathetic consumption
innocuous smile and always gracious
the yard stick my dignity is measured by
right to thrive hammered out in meandering prose and brief spurts of productivity
whatever that means
im to tired to even guess