Dear Society

Dear Society,

Telling me the way to go - never fit myself into your gender

Confines and even in my disruption their compulsion to fit

Me into a box flickers behind… shadows. The flames

Burning my mind, or am I burning. Fuck. Their stereotypes.

You cannot speak up about anything. Be passionate.

Rant about ableism and transphobia and they give strange looks

And yeah girls can do that, but I’m not one of them…

And my identity of being loud… is this just internalized misogyny…?

Head and a broken body, too wrong, but I feel no connection to the physical

Right…?

I guess that’s a lie. Cannot be stoic. Only a fragment.

If only they Could realize they shattered me and stabbed me those very shards

Every time. Gaping hole in identity within the shifting…

Runs the river of my identity denser than salt water tears

Comatose emotion just drifts through the world with the amnesia

Characterizing half a dozen mental illnesses.

Maybe society would be better if you’d stop fitting us into boxes.

Boxes that I tried to crumple but only buckled under my weight but

Never gave way to hell… I’m past caring… we’re long gone…

Cover up the wrong body. Call it the wrong thing. Cover up my wrong mind.

Call it something else.

Lights and pleasantness. The last of the alphabet and calming herbs

Burning it all down… Voices and breakdowns. Remember not to be too

Opinionated. You cannot be opinionated. That’s just being annoying

I hate your ideals… it runs beyond politics. Beyond values beyond all

Trickling through bloodlines, gurgling brookes and estuaries whatever

Body of water you learned in your standard fourth grade science textbook…

Glacial stoic. Eternal pain and maybe one day we can erode it slick or maybe

That erosion won’t be good with too much snowmelt. Burning the past just

To have a burning future. Burning. It down. Maybe we can talk about some

Other utopia but we both know not in our life

Time is running out can we really out

Live them?

Eyes. Stare back through antiquity. Forgo the jaded and glib rhetoric for us.

For us. Because maybe we’ll reach there. Eventually.

But we’ll be standing on the heaps of corpses. Is that what we really want?

Another institution built on the corpses. Queer rebel anarchists could be our future but

Somehow the pessimist in me tells me we will fail.

Alienor for a couple generations…

Is it just fear or logic speaking? Rants and poetry.

Borderline breaking down in a wobbly grey trail.

Forget it. I’ll take a disorganized utopia over this .