Rest These Bones

Rest These Bones

​My heart feels like rotten potato salad. 

it’s leaking. weeping ichor

I know this is part of my flare cycle

all I can do is ride it out, remind myself that my brain is lying, that I am more than a useless burden (etc) 

If I try to push it, I will just end up back in the life eclipsing pain and fatigue flare. 

Back at the bottom of the lake 

with no energy to crawl out yet again

so I’m trying to ride it out, rest, and remind myself that I will probably get back to my higher ground. 

at some point

So as much as I want to make a to do list

and check things off

feel like I am catching up

Today I am going to rest as much as possible

catch up on some shows

remind my brain it’s lying

and hope tomorrow is a better day

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Happy Anniversary and Thank You

For all your amazing support

Two years ago(almost exactly) I started out on this official writing journey, at the encouragement of my loves, scared to death and sure I would fail. Finally I decided, I didn’t want to be the sort of person who never tried to fulfill their dreams, and being out of options as a chronically ill person who was newly unable to work outside the home, I had to make something happen. I could not sit for the rest of my life dwelling on my misery and hating myself the way I was inclined to. I’d seen in my own family how that ended. I had to try and fulfill the dream.

dreams are hard right? or they wouldn’t be called dreams 

I had two patrons, both part of my chosen family network, 11$. That 11 dollars was the beginning of me remembering my value, of discovering how healing it is to be even a small part of someone else’s healing. 

Truly a soul soothing balm 

So… 

I don’t know how to thank you exactly

when I traveled the wayward flail and chuckle of childhood imagination

and landed, barely on my feet, beside you

arms held out inviting  

into this intergalactic fantasy 

into me and mine 

My heart

and you said yes! 

…you said yes…

thank you

“heat vision” picture of myself , a white demidude, wearing my son, who is black/biracial, in a buckle style baby carrier on my back. Our faces are bright pink, our hair and clothes yellow, and the baby carrier straps, kindle I’m holding, and my glasses are blue indicating the heat everything is emiting. The picture and the heat vision gives the picture a Terminator type feel. On the right hand side there is a vertical bar showing w hat temperature ranges each color represents.

Otters and Other Mythical Creatures

I think about otters

no one forces an otter 

otters are just otters

otters just live

————-

I think about living a life with out the sweaty milk sacks 

now that’s poetry. 

milk sacks. spigots.

I’ve got a million euphemisms 

let’s just tone that gendered term down friend 

soften the blow a bit

they have given life though

nurtured life

power, grace, and magic irrefutable

I am thankful for this gift

even as I am being dragged kicking and screaming into your 50’s house wife fantasy.

*I Do Not Consent To This!*

I scream into the void 

but no one is listening 

or no one cares

*I do not consent to this body* I whisper

small.desperate. an eternity of tired

still

The entire world leans in

cheerful.helpful.

and offers me a cough drop and half of a flat soda.  

forever missing the point

Living Between Hope and Hopeless

I’m alive

for tonight 

for today

I’m alive and my feet hurt

I’m alive and my body burns, existing at 90 degree angles from itself

I’m alive and they dismantled the ADA

I’m alive and I don’t know what the future holds 

I’m alive but my insurance may partially cover gender confirmation surgery and hormones 

I’m alive and there’s no way to make that last line flow nicely 

so I’ll just say

I’m alive

Chronic Illness Feeling Number Whatever

On the verge of a really big bad, I can’t move and everything is on fire flare. 

not quite though…
instead i feel like freezing cold mud. 
My muscles burn as if after anaerobic excersize 

it is an empty, sputtering, cold, cold burn.
My muscles, so weak and slow
struggle mightily and weakly, an old overheated computer, slow 
-buffering- buffering- buffering-  
every cell in my body surrounded by cold sloughing muck, 
neurons firing through thick sludge. 
a difficult and slow journey. 
The mud drips and oozes 
my muscles are melting.  
i struggle to hold this form 
to not melt away 
and drift into nothingness like a half remembered memory

Reframed

I used to think my sick body was a weak body

for the way it shook, burned, throbbed, and trembled

how I cursed it’s every inconsistency

how I sobbed and railed and wailed 

at my body’s failure to do as I saw fit and proper

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

yet here I am years later 

thriving despite

inspite 

because of

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

and so a dawning of sorts

a realization 

my sick body is a strong body

a persistent body 

an empowered body 

my body screams to live 

trembles in its effort to continue 

burns to live a day in love 

my body shakes with will to live

we shall not stop

not today

not tomorrow 

for this body is a strong body

Happy Queer Holidays

A History –

Christmas morning 1984: I snuck into the living room in the middle of the night. The lights from the tree seemed like a gentle hug as I surveyed the presents clustered around it. Teddy Bears and bikes twinkled merrily under the lights. No pink I noticed, and breathe an internal sigh of relief. Hopefully I would only get one or two unwanted Barbies that year. 

Christmas morning 1990: My face fell immediately upon opening the present in my lap. Underneath the delicate tissue paper and shiney silver wrapping paper is a universe of pink and teal discomfort. There was  Teen Spirit deodorant, hair gel, hair spray, lip gloss, and other small pieces of feminine coded frippary. I looked up in bafflement at my dad. My step mother smiled a tight lipped smile at me whispering “We thought you might be better at…if you had more tools” as she gestured vaguely at her body. Shame and confusion writhed over me as I peeked at the comfortable and beloved Who Framed Roger Rabbit sweatshirt I was wearing. What was wrong with me anyway? 

Christmas morning 2005: My semi estranged husband had created a beautiful winter wonderland with every day items laying around the house. We both awkwardly hyper focused on our babies and their magical experience of Christmas. I was sad but also relieved that no one was trying to force glittery baubles and pretty blouses on me or reflecting tearfully on what a lovely wife/daughter/sister I was. New words were darting in and out of my awareness nervously: transgender, genderqueer. I wasn’t sure how  yet but I knew my entire universe was shifting.  

Christmas morning 2007: My girlfriend and I cuddled on the couch while our children opened presents. She gave me gifts that didn’t leave me feeling ashamed and confused. I felt like I might actually really exist for the first time in my thirty some odd years of life. 

Christmas morning 2010: I was a single parent, certain that I was not compatible with humanity in any meaningful way. “not fit for human consumption” I joked. But I knew myself and I was happy with the person I was becoming. I was confident and content for the first time in my life. Though I believed I was beyond love, I had language to define my reality more clearly. It was a blessing I never expected.  I watched my sons open presents joyfully. life was good. 

.
Christmas morning 2015: such a full and surprisingly wonderful morning. Beyond all expectations I had met a lover and friend who really sees and embraces all of me. Together we have been able to build a fundamentally healthy and nourishing relationship dynamic. My chronic illness had relatively recently forced me to quit working outside our home. There were many challenges ahead of us. It will be hard, but that day we watched our four oldest children open presents as they laughed and fussed over the new baby. Life was great. 

Christmas morning 2017, A prediction: The last two years have been hard, the last year has been the hardest. My nesting partner and I are worn down in a lot of ways. Our meager social network and resources have been stripped further down outside of a deeply appreciated online community that we have deep love and gratitude for. I have in my partners and online community, people who really see and wholeheartedly want every part of me, for the first time in my life. Something strong and fragile, uncoils in my chest. Perhaps I am fit for human consumption after all. The presents are small and few but the love is very real. My nesting partner is hopefully preparing to visit our/his oldest daughter in Texas. Our holiday, whether celebrated on the solstice or X-mas is an honoring of us all as individuals and a family. Life flows on. 

 Life is magic. Life is hard. Life is my Blessing. 

Happy holidays for all my beautiful, sad, joyous, struggling, celebrating humans!


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