Apathy
Turning in on itself,
turning out reflecting images of men,
transforming into disgust.
Category: Emotional Health
The Burdens Of Childhood You Can’t Outgrow
As a small child, I tentatively
reached my feet toward the floor
apprehensive of the crevice,
the mere inches
where darkness bleeds until
my monster emerged
Faggot
The raw emotions continue to be painful. I’m still spazzing. I’m still distraught. I’m still frantic and furious. I’m working hard to shed this baggage and the image that has been branded upon me. Meanwhile, I am damaged. Mentally and physically, I am unable to cope on my own. I need support. I need help. I need an advocate.
I finally understand what it means to be a survivor. I must find my footing, pave my way, and mow over the resistance. Even if I’m all alone, I fully intend to fight for my self-worth for as long as it takes.
Sanity
When the silence starts to scream,
when the pain starts to demand,
I search for a crowd,
one that can distract the deafening silence.
The Perils of the Business World
I touched upon my entire anatomy of silver ribbons and glittering intentions and deep black tar of unidentifiable insecurity without first learning how each part of me functioned.
Skipping Rocks
The most beautiful moment I had in college (aside from the day I bought myself a vibrator or learned to make poached eggs) was when I went to the lake, picked up a flat stone the size of a driver’s license and threw it. It skipped four times, just like that. I didn’t need CJ to show me how to do it, reveal any special secret to me. In the end, I didn’t need him, didn’t want him, at all.
Why Can’t I Look Like Stevie Nicks?
Still, I believed I needed to look good to be happy. I worked out like crazy and tried to hide my bad teeth, which had been further damaged in a bicycle accident. Even after I found a great boyfriend who convinced me to get help for my eating disorder—probably saving my life in the process—I hated looking in mirrors.
I Was a Fearless Little Girl
I’ll never know if my mother thought that she might have had a cross dressing pre-teen son, or maybe she just thought that I was just a theatrical kid. After a quick costume change out of my denim bugle boys and into her brazier and favorite silver and turquoise jewelry, I was the most fearless little girl on the North Side of the Bronx, and that helped keep me alive.