of 2020, dearth

and 2019 too

it’s time to sow

my days with work

that kindles life anew

it’s been almost a year

and i can’t even

look at her

since as far back as i can remember, our cultural model of binary gender has seemed like a strange umbrella with several holes in it that leaves whole continents of my soul exposed to the rain.

it’s like wearing a scratchy and unflattering sweatshirt that’s two sizes too small; i’ve always felt uncomfortable with the concept of maleness with which i was levied at birth, because it’s never seemed to fit, radically limiting my range of movement.

i’m proud to say that from a young age, i started bucking that cultural straitjacket without even knowing why. and i’m even prouder to say that i started bucking it consciously as soon as i began to understand just how many of the invisible barriers by which we abide are make-believe.

sadly, however, my lack of acquiescence to those arbitrary behavioral limitations has wrought a not-insignificant amount of turmoil throughout my life.

a molten heart is hardened….

I.
how does a minute feel more than a mile?
a moment a substitute for a great while?
a lifetime without the sweet sound of the voice
that would be much preferred if you just had the choice?

II.
what is this dagger, pointy thing
with every heartbeat, renewed sting
this dreadful pulsing in my heart
i wish had never found a start

or do i really? is it nice–?.
to feel this burning absence–ice
enshrouding me with expert toll
and shaving fragments off my soul

to feel this burden, aching pain
to lose the sun, and darkness gain
in absence, lurking out of view
the specter haunting me is you

i love you–yes, that much is true
but sadly things must always end
the sun is gone, i wish i knew
the light as if you were a friend

III.
inside a secret garden’s gate
forever vacant, is entombed
a person who was lost to fate
for whom a wilted flower once bloomed

but sunlight follows after rain–
tomorrow’s seed falls down again
and grows within the fertile soil
of compost wrought from pain and toil

remember all, but move along
for fossils are forever gone…
and when you bloom for someone new–
and they become a part of you–
the tumult of an ancient din
will turn into obsidian

and my existential

horror continues

unabated;

the naïveté of the

moral eyeglass

through which so

many people see

the world is rose-

colored–when the

truth is more like

crimson–to all of

our detriments

i miss when days were enchanted

and i like thinking that this period

of my life could be romantic —

an explosion of color permeating the

gray malaise of what nearly became

an early grave

i haven’t been present

i haven’t been me

i haven’t been living

authentically

yep, that near-yearlong era of

havoc and horror is

finally over

a new epoch has begun

and it coincides with the

reappearance of the

springtime

sun

i promise you that a future where you love yourself will arrive much sooner than you imagine

my other blog, may 27, ’19; last entry before my life dimmed catastrophically

i was exhorting myself to do all the things i need to do to be happy

seriously, have i mentioned how extraordinarily badly i would like to delete several of the posts on this blog?

i guess that’s what happens when you have a collection of written accounts

nevertheless, this blog is the story of me. and i have a sacrosanct duty to preserve it for posterity.