8 F Y R E ' B I R D 8

tonight, i am choking up a fire, tonight the water in me burns and somehow this happens, inside me, making no sense, making only the sense, the sense ripped away from my lungs, my body decaying, how can i hate you and love you both at the same time, paradoxes dwell in me, i suppose this is like when traveling the rocky road home (to oneself) i tell myself to comfort as i push my foot farther down my own throat, yearning for some kind of intensity, some kind of relief from the pain of missing you, of missing me, of not knowing if i can trust myself on the night rides home, always knowing that i can trust something like my capacity to feel such extremities, such extreme seas, always getting closer to the one who i call Mars in me   tonight, i am remembering warmth and my ability to move with it, to move with the raging rivers in me, and not be drowned, somehow keep my head above water, my ear cocked to the horizon, knowing whispers that remind : hiding my queerness is survi...

when i came out to my cis-het boyfriend as genderfluid, he asked me what that meant. when i explained it to him, he said: “that’s weird”.   we were driving in the car. he was driving. he quickly looked over at me afterwards, as my face, space, and whole being was impacted by the weight of his statement. horror, pain, and grief erupting through my eyes. tears beginning to rush.   needless to say, i broke up with him. it took me awhile, but that moment taught me who i wanted close to me as i transitioned (and who i didn’t want close to me). it taught me self-care, boundaries, and respect. it tacught me to see how ingrained self-erasure had become for me as a non-binary person, and how low my sense of self-worth was as a result of it. it taught me how deep the pain of many years and lifetimes and generations of erasure feels. i was crying for days after that incident. i didn’t know what was happening to me. enormous grief portals opened in my body. i didn’t have lan...

every day, write. because if you are not writing, here. you are writing somewhere. there are stories being told somewhere, in your being. they happen racing through your head or wake up at the tips of your fingers when dreaming. the ways you happen, and how the world happens with you is important, is important. write, because. it gives you life. it gives you a place to put: everything. it gives you a way to navigate death. the empty page does not judge or hurt you, like sometimes, the thoughts do inside of your own head. or the glances, shrugs, and distracted looks you interpret as signs from others, proving your unworthiness. write, because when you do, you fly. and flying tastes so good to your wings. your wings must remember how to fly, and when you are writing, they do. it is permission. it is promise. it is hope and despair and returning again to a place of origin. it is channeling, it is home-coming, it is discipline and challenge, death and resurr...