What are you most proud of?
That I don’t see life as a miserable, gruelling concept.
That I don’t see life as something forced onto me.
That I still manage to find the light, the crack in the sidewalk to sprout from.
How, even through convoluted grief and anger at years lost to trauma and heartbreaks of every genre but romantic, I still want to be alive.
How, even through the identity changes, early maturation and dissociation, I crave a fresh morning to begin again.
How, even through adversity, I still desire this life; my life.
Because I want to feel the sun on my scars.
Because joy is more potent when sorrow is steeped in with it.
Because I want to love, to mourn, to laugh, to sob, to emote,
And I will pursue this at any cost.
Solitude is comfort.
Sitting inside my heart, knowing it is just me to look out for,
has a level of safety, of solace,
I know my requirements and tend to them endlessly.
But now there’s you.
You have a space carved out inside my heart,
with flashes of your strong hands and soft eyes,
every squeal of joy,
the tightness in my cheeks,
our supple hearts fleshed as one.
But it’s not just me anymore.
Many years of solitude have made rusted the spaces in my heart meant for another.
I am habitually engulfed in a sense of seclusion.
And for a moment I believe again that it is just me,
as it always has been.
And then you press against my hearts’ walls,
your presence juiced into my veins,
coating every corner,
and I remember you are here.
In all your gentle glory,
inside my head and by my side and in my heart,
It isn’t just me anymore.
And what an honour it is that it’s you.
the way it tasted in my mouth,
on my pitiful fortuned future,
one where a man
with a hairy chest and no room in it for me,
was what to desire,
so I learned to choke back my own,
believing a life without love,
a throat full of thirst,
was my white flag.
So don’t tell me you always knew,
because for a long time I didn’t.
I held in my mouth the dripping inkling
that i was meant for a woman all along.
But the delectable nectar,
the joyous certainty,
was far too sweet to spit out.