SIGNS
PAIN JOURNAL ENTRY
it’s hard to convince people of something they can’t see.
but i was trained to deceive myself.
there’s no prescription strong enough to bring back wasted time.
last night i got a knock on my door.
the neighbor.
“i can see you through the window.”
i leaned against the doorframe of apt 202 wearing 8 in pleasers and a black bob wig.
the jig is up.
the womb. the chrysalis. the first apartment i lived in alone. i started HRT here. healed from top surgery here. wrote a record here.
“sorry about that.”
“i’m not.”
he came back an hour later and asked me out.
how should i tell him he’s in love with a costume?
[redacted] didn’t know i was a boy either. even when he saw me on set in a suit and beard.
but i was naked when he screamed at me for not cumming fast enough.
“am i not a man?”
no one he met on his world tours told him he was lousy in bed.
till me.
my parents screamed too.
“get the fuck out of my house.” = D
“you don’t need a mother anymore.” = M
i’ve stopped praying for god to save their souls.
she slipped and just like that
i felt like i lost my γυνὴ περιβεβλημένη τὸν ἥλιον.
it’s ok to cry.
she’s probably right.
sometimes i imagine what it’s like to feel loved like a child
and not hated like an adult.
i imagine the woman i used to be
died giving birth to
a bouncing baby boy.
in her arms, i am loved
and always will be.
i can still cry, by the way.
despite what all of them said.
ps. i woke up one night from a dream with this chorus playing in my head like a prophecy.