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riverbed
letting my toes curl into the riverbed
rooted, connected, dependent, a tree
shedding any illusion of separation
finding rest in unbroken communion
putting the full weight of my body
onto yours, you still smell unfamiliar
seeds of goodness wait around the corner
as i open my hands in want
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and yet
nearing the end of mulling it over
all the wrong that i should have seen
and all i want to do differently
the next time
it's too late to tell you about
thoughts festering in my mind and in notebooks
questions with no definite answers
like how are you doing right now
i was so ready
and you seemed so too
a trust fall where you left me hanging
intention, assurance, inaction
space you carved out that you couldn't fill
digging a hole in my heart to plant a tree
but you missed the most important part
did the nice words come in flashes of affection
after several days of silence
"can i make you a playlist?"
the void speaks to the absence
or was it a fear of loss
breadcrumbs as internet calls it
a tug of war that rewards the uncaring
detachment self fullfilling
safe as armour
glasses on the nightstand
clothes coming off
the look in your eyes
revealing a deeper more vulnerable
you who i came to long for
to witness
to experience
maybe there was no deeper meaning
no words in between the lines
no face behind the mask
hanging in interminable uncertainty
but there's only one you and i miss you
as i will until i completely forget you
even if you made me miserable
uncommunicative
undependable
unavailable
boyish
ambitious
delightful
a companion
so smart and so sweet
home that i wanted to burrow my head in
and yet
and yet
and yet
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revisionist history
in a coffeeshop alone
shoegaze music, muffled vocalists
on my phone i wrote write till you feel
that the numb is a mask for hurt
once upon a time
id write out my days in verbs and nouns
mustache, jackets,
hair dye, pedal board,
the fall of rome, stoics,
living out purpose, writing you a letter
when you told me that night
that you should get going
to feed your cat at 6am the next morning
i wish i asked
and held on a little longer
not to stave off the inevitable written in from the start
but for the moment's beauty we could have created together
memory picturesque
etched in amber falsities
will you change the script
are you still going on first dates
i told you to be upfront
even then i wouldn't have run
though i wish i didnt concede
in accepting less than what i really wanted
and what i really wanted was you
until attraction morphed into paranoia and obsession
poisoned by mistrust
moral dilemmas
self love
does the thought of me toss and turn in your brain
do you think of me when you're lonely
did i take up a corner of your heart
ill never know if you cared
now that the music's over
and now we're no more than strangers
if i saw you on the street would i smile
and pretend like this doesn't still hurt
i took your consolation prize
offered over a five minute phone call
you said you still wanted me in your life
a sidelined minor character
until i couldn't anymore
two alternate stories
incapable or unwilling
arriving at the same ending
does it matter which was real?
third times a charm
ill fuck up what comes next
expectations reap disappointments
aviva said i might meet someone tomorrow
save me probability or fate
a script recited on shitty first dates
putting my life in order
goals, progression
habit, aspirations
who wants to make love with nihilistic disinterest
can i really say i've changed?
a notebook of negotiated acceptance
when did the longing start?
and more importantly
when does it end?
summer around the corner
poems to be rewritten
welcoming a cast of new characters
maybe ill adopt a plant
or a social hobby
and cook a meal with a friend
change your habits, change your life
as i watch the embers of passion die out
and yet for some reason
i still stick around
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where i am
a date who thought i wanted to only be friends
until we started kissing
she hasn’t responded to my texts
coffee with someone i was dating
telling me about their married poly partner
the things they put up with
and weird things that happen during sex
texted a friend about how i now see them as immature
that friend doesn’t like that person
hot and cold
but she only sees them through the stories i tell her
and i run hot and cold
anxious avoidant
fear of control
fear of being taken away from myself and the place that i love
ive been there before
with someone who always wanted to call
who didn’t know how to spend a moment alone
i spilled coffee all over my shirt
i got new art to cover the walls
and some prints from a magazine i need to pull apart
it got hot one day and everyone was excited
and now its cold again
my red scarf is running in the laundry
ive had a little phlegm in my throat for the past few days
hopefully just allergies
drinks with a lesbian
transfem who’s yet to transition
if i didn’t need to go through all this would i have
there’s no point in comparing my path to that of another
dharma my purpose
the call of my life
i ask myself how do i want to be who i want to be
today and in this moment
in this relationship
in this situation
to reclaim some sense of agency when im lost in the sauce
lost in scrolling on my phone
or lying in bed and daydreaming about sex
fixations on absence
im only getting hotter and wiser and more myself
the hope inside my comes and goes
but i can only walk forward
what other option do i have
flashes of insights
moments of narrative cohesion and gratitude
when i say i am glad for where ive been and where im going
a girl with holes
come finger the wounds in quiet intimacy
ill let you be the one to hurt me
pining after you
after you’ve let me down
you called it a pause
did you mean it
a prisoner to your dereliction
i have so much to do while im waiting
love ive yet to learn in the meantime
and books that need reading
ideas that long for encounter
like statues weathered out in the garden
you say you’re afraid to write how you feel
that to take up space with emotion is burdensome
and you talk to the girl with emotions
consuming burning me alive
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it really is insane how waking up early will grant you access to some of the most beautiful sights and sensations in the world that will make you want to live forever, but only if you overcome the gauntlet of a thousand razors that is getting out of bed early. truly one of life's little saw traps.
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what if you’ve been thinking about me / as much as I’ve been thinking about you
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where i am - feb 17 2024
im out at work, and pretty much everywhere i go, even though i don’t really wear girl clothes, i simply exist and people call me miss. it’s been okay! the excitement’s worn off. it’s still strange sometimes to hear the name mira. the people who’ve been in my life the longest are definitely the ones struggling the most with deadnaming and misgendering me. my new normal. which is funny because most of the time i don’t consciously think of myself as a girl or a woman, im simply myself, and who the fuck knows who that is.
enjoying time spent with friends, and with the small group at the church i go to. enjoying existing among people. though i still have days or weekends alone where it feels like im all alone in the world. my pea sized brain lacking any sense of object permanence. funny how social ive been turning out.
or maybe it’s just a part of me. a friend talked to me about understanding DID within themselves and their parts and internal family dynamics therapy. and so i’ve been thinking about my own lack of consistency. what are my parts? do they have names and characterizations?
im seeing someone and it’s thrilling and exciting. but im also too afraid to get hurt to be too excited about this new thing and about them. im still waiting for them to realize that im not that interesting and that im beneath them and i have nothing to offer them, that im not the wounded animal they want to be carrying around leading the way. their mind is full of facts and history and interesting things, and mine is near empty all the time unprimed and unprompted. i don’t think im actually that boring. i do more than stare at white walls and imagine the same three things surely. there’s a whole universe inside me i simply forget about too often.
i want more time and attention from them than they’ve been giving me. maybe it’ll come in time. or maybe id be better off getting myself busy. with reading and art and experiences and other friends and music shows and other partners. but who knows. it reminds me of a friend and her girlfriend. the girlfriend lives with her mom and doesn’t have much of a social life, but my friend does more. maybe couples figure that stuff out.
how do i relationship? or date to start with? how do i stop being afraid? i don’t want to act out of fear, i want to act out of love.
they got me roses for valentines day. at first i was a little dismayed. a generic gift you’d get someone else. but then i brought them home and cut off the stems and put them in a larger mason jar. and now they sit on my coffeetable and look gorgeous. i love them. and now i feel guilty for being ungrateful at first. thoughts like “do you even see me?” in face of a romantic gesture.
i have a new notebook for mind mapping for poetry and songs. it’s beautiful making mysterious connections. and the rhyming game in my head never seems to stop.
i have tentative plans with a sadist. someone ive hung out with before, but this time around feels different. maybe it’s the different hormone regimen, the introduction of progesterone which has been known to increase homosexual tendencies.
dealing with the newfound reality of feeling attractive. not only in the mirror, not only the nails i got done with a friend last tuesday, but also the inner kind. the emotional expressiveness i lend to others now. authenticity, showing you my beautiful self and all the beautiful things inside me. although these feelings come and go.
a card carrying lesbian. a glittery strap. sensual. ive been told im good at sex.
a friend told me that growing up pentecostal is sorta kinky. to which im seeing the truth in. why do we pretend like we live anywhere other than our bodies?
i feel sad, and then i write, and then the feeling goes away.
sometimes it feels like im going nowhere and nothing is happening. the calendar where i write what happens retrospectively says otherwise. and so does the constant of change and progress im seeing in my art and in my transition goals, and in the person im seeing, the upcoming drama with my family when i come out to my parents, a surgery date set a year from now, the needle i stick in my week every week, clothes and earrings and necklaces i need to go find, the possibility of falling in love with someone who loves me too, books ive yet to read, movies ive yet to see, etcetera etcetera etcetera.
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Journaling as self soothing. Journaling as self love, as a parent would for a child, as a sibling, as a lover. Journaling to be curious about me. Journaling as a place to vent. Journaling as a place to be understood, to understand. Journaling as a place to find joy in the infinite well that is myself.
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Standards permanently raised by someone I felt so emotionally and physically compatible with. Who carried similar values and was such a vibe. I fumbled it. I’m so sad.
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my broken mind
stuck on repeat
play it over and over
the autopsy
as you watched me flail
kick around the dead corpse
leave a sour taste, desperation
why you don’t go out anymore
i dreamed about buying you health insurance
and making your life easier, doing chores
for a second i thought you really saw me
now you made me want so much more
god took me back to the drawing board
so i’ll learn what i thought i once new
there’s a book about love that stings every page
because mine was never that true
ill hope in better tomorrows
when i’ve grown a little older and wiser
paint the bittersweet memories as prologue
you’re a foretaste of something much better
i’ll write gushy sincere blood ink letters
and ill leave them at her bedside in the morning
and i won’t worry so much about everything
and ill say the L word too much when we’re fucking
who’s funny but also quite serious
who’ll lead me to all i can be
and i know i can rise to the occasion
when all this love stops being a dream.
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swing
a garden
a house
the sea breathing in
and out with the tides
tuned to the rhythm
of endless repeating
singing along
with the wind as as she kisses
blades of unkept grass
each pendulum swing
a reminder i’m home
i never made you
i dont know how i found you
but i will behold you in awe
as you exist
outside the contours
of my troubled mind
in forgetting myself
i feel alive
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ask me my name
acknowledgment’s pretext
drifting away
from any resemblance of normalcy
beheld to a romance
a frozen moment’s
affection however imagined
a symbol growing in absence
misguided innocence
in the four years it took me
to ask what is yours
picture the scene
a stream of petals gracing
my cheek in a dark abandoned home
a song haunting the alone
i couldn’t see
as now i do dimly
while the clock and this heart keep beating
a story still growing
in spindles of hair and synapse
the universe and eternity
painting my insides
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Why do the ripples in the pond at 1am / Remind me of you
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