do you remember me? i want to ask, “do you remember me from all the circles i’ve been running in? do you remember how i walked past this threshold, the claws were not all that i was escaping? do you remember the lost daughter or must i be a prodigal?” all i remember is, i keep trying to go home, i’m not sure i know the way back anymore.
so what if the skeleton in my childhood bedroom looks just like me? can you see bones peeking out from frills, blood staining those pretty bows and mud soaking pastel frocks? listen to the ghost with a little girl’s voice whisper, “even the beautiful will rot, every adornment here a reminder of what growing up is not.”
so what if the skeleton in your closet looks just like me? at least one of us gets to go home tonight.
// long way home????? help me find a better title lol
majorly missing tumblr and writing in general, so trying to get back into my element!
I make pasta, floating through
The flotsam of a prosaic existence
I find magic in pockets scented
By cinnamon and cradled
With love, I sprinkle my
Stardust on the darkening
Moments, the heater is
Humming the merriest
Tune, there's fog on the windows
A wonderful warmth
A cozy autumn kiss on
My waiting cheek
The weight of black ink,
suddenly a burden in
my paper cut hands.
amor poro e súa poeira
agora esqueleto de tremor
lá a cadea infinita espera e retorna
area e sal enferruxando a distancia
fuxitivos de ter sido tempo
de repente o mar derramou na area
unha onda perdida como ferradura
© Manoel T, 2022
You ripped my heart apart like a piece of paper; your hands gripped so tightly, refusing to let go even when your fingers ached and I let you do it. My heart crumbles more when you admit none of it was real, the broken shards pierce my lungs; I couldn’t reply. If I could, I would ask why. No one deserves pain like this, but I would rather it be me than you. There’s no more of me to break.
You touch means so much,
Yet you give so little thought
To each passing brush.
notes on lazy transexuality - jude francis
(in italics) notes on lazy transexuality
the sweat collects under my tits whether i bind or not.
when i wear my hair long it is not in a feminine-wiles-hair-flip-tried-and-true way - it is more
hips too wide for mens jeans mean
my waist is drowned in fabric, hiding the curve of ass and stomach, where
soft flesh waits to be gripped by hands like mine, which reach out to
a reflection that must be explained away.
round face and patchy beard, the bikini top i flaunt because shit, i may not want it
but this chest is bangin' and
if you can see the transexuality glinting in my eyes, don't look away.
i have grown comfortable, and too lazy to try and pass
the nonstop examination of the eyes of the world, this interrogation where
there is no alibi, no getaway car or accomplice to bust me out this time.
there is only sweat and flesh and a body to be lived in, and by god
i will live. /end description]
grocery list at 11:30 PM and also i’m broke by a.dp
what i got by silas denver melvin (written at the unrelatable writing retreat, sep 17 2022)
[Text ID: got bad. got worse. got suspended for blessing the face of a transphobe with the open palmed reckoning of my small hands. got praised. got punished. got home & ma, her crown bowed to the steering wheel, her tired, dish-water knuckles smoothing imagined creases from her Stevie Nicks skirt, told me she understood, but couldn't condone. got taken out of class. got put in therapy. got threatened, thanked, spit at, spit on. got everything but even. got medicated. got put in a small room with a suit-pressed man & a single particle wood table. got asked if i thought id ever see heaven. got a good look & measured my answer. got considered like livestock. got 5 days out of school like isolation was a fever-trick to sweat out the sick they assigned to my blood. got up on the last day, before the yolk-heavy sun even broke the fragile line of the horizon, before the cat birds could perch on the white birch branches & begin their endless crying, & thought to myself let heaven start where my boots are laced & allow no merciless crowd decide me otherwise, which is to say… i got out & from there, i have yet to stop. /End ID]
"Sometimes, to find happiness
There is risk involved."
How long have you huddled
In your hovel? How long
Have you chewed the
Status quo, placated
The apple cart? Have
You forgotten the way
Joy shines like little
Have you been wearing
A smile as an act of
Self defense so long that
It feels like your face?
I know somehow these
Roots could grow something
Lovely if I could find the
Gumption to pull all
The weeds up, to find
Only beauty instead
Brown as autumn's leaves,
I found a constellation
deep within your eyes.
oco que é vez
ás veces a noite enumera os corpos
dous un deserto ou astros lazados
é dous e dous nó e distancia
dúas pedras fronte a fronte
lóstrego océano raíz e aperta
dúas navallas convertidas en dous corpos
ondas que son ás veces fío e oco
escorregando dun ceo de carne
© Manoel T, 2022
Have you ever had a dream so real you think it is a memory?
- I’m still trying to figure out if you were real or not
— mimi evangeline, excerpt from deus mortis