how to let go

when i was little
i knew nothing else but
love for my mother.
she would take me bike riding,
hold me close in thunderstorms,
let me fall asleep in her lap every night

but years sooner
as i spread my wings like icarus
too close to the sun
eventually i became
her shoulder to cry on
we held each other up
despite the color
in our veins

when i grew older, and things began to change again,
my heart did not beat the way it
used to
a new rhythm
stormed through that drum
like the thunderstoms
that i hid from
in her comforting grasp
but wave after wave of overwhelming saltwater
all too much to bear

and i turned to my father
who seemed gentler
who seemed gentler
who seemed to understand
without making me feel
like i had made a horrible mistake
and my mother
felt to me like a time bomb
i swear her heart was a countdown
and i was petrified
but she just loved me
she just loved me
she just loved me
and i refused to see it
i refused to try
and its hard to understand now
why i didnt use a walking stick
when i knew that i was blind,
to see what was in front of me
find the bumps that had a purpose
that lead to something greater
and i wonder now
why i can never love them both
at the same time

i used to love my mom
the tables have turned again
i dont hate them
i have only fallen in love with the rain
now thunderstorms bring me solace
like a white flag over a battlefield
she never stopped loving me
he never stopped loving me
my heart holds too much back
like an arrow 
just waiting to let go
i want to be free
but they hold to tightly the string of the bow
holding me back
not ready to let go

and this body
holds impulsive behaviors
holds intrusive engravers
i dont need a tombstone
for a body full of blood

and i want to be forgiven
but this body knows no heaven
and i dont believe in god
but i believe in the eyes of my own, new, love
the hope that she has injected
into my IV
slowly creeping into my veins
as i sleep in this hospital bed of nightmares inside memories
trauma and shaking fingers
but she holds my hand in warm concern
she cares about me
something i have not felt in
too long, since i lost my family's grasp
for better or for worse

but of all the people ive ever met
i hope you dont forget me
your fixer upper
sagging shuttered
home

i cant write about being trans

i cant write about being trans.

when i do,  it either hurts  too much
or i get angry,
or my words wont fit together
as they rarely do nowadays.

i cant write about being trans

because i am not proud of it.
its hard to be
when people say they love you
but cross their fingers
when you tell them the truth.

its hard to be proud
of the thing that seems
to have ruined your life
ruined your entire you
eating it whole
until all thats left is
a carcass of bitter words
and anxiety ridden bones.

i am proud sometimes.
i am proud of my brothers and sisters
who are taking much farther strides than
i ever could.
who create fires under commands
   that consume hate
       and fear

but i am not proud of me

i am little more than
an exhausted, invisible
sun
on the brink of combustion

and my parents are ashamed of me.

my family now only consists of 
dirty looks and small talk
my eyes, are not windows
you cannot see through me.

i am more than just gossip
for your friends to joke about
i am not
a science experiment
i am not
confused

i know who i am.

i dont want
to validate myself for you

i dont have
to validate myself for you

but the anxiety 
that crawls out from behind your words
before a single syllable escapes

creates knots in my throat
unreconcilable
by a knife
by a sword
by the sleeping pills that drown my dreams

my body seems to work against me
in every attempt at change

i am not proud
of my nights spent in excitement over
testosterone dreams 
because they do not bring about change

i am not proud
that my breathing is constricted
in order to appear to be
what im supposed to be
but if i was supposed to be
i wouldnt be me

im tired

and i hate to be