Rocking

I’m being rocked back and forth like the cradle we were all warning children about

But instead of falling out, pieces of me were already missing, clinging to the insides of a tree’s bitter fruit

I’m still yearning to be held like an abandoned kitten left at the side of the road, only my family is still here

I’m trying to see if the tides will tie me over with their frightening charm, but I’m slowly breaking my own neck looking back at my old self

Straining my ears from pushing my own voice down them to see if it’ll slither out the other side

I just want to cry without being sad and laugh without anger

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Fasten Your Seated Past

The way I see it, my head makes my body feel like it’s a cloth being wrung out submerged in a body of water

How the tables have turned, my lungs can soak up the air when my mind says no

I’m sitting, staring into my own eyes through the outside looking in, just a boy who had something stripped, wiped from him

He had no idea that he would face drowning in a different context, fell into a pool but was saved, now it’s become difficult when it’s not fluid that’s keeping him under, its his demons

Older now, writing words splashed across paper like an artist using nature as their canvas, incomprehensible to the human capacity, coherent only from the creator’s paint brush

Spilling unto a sea of colours, swimming against the grain, he’s alive today, hit with the brisk cold, winter’s embrace has fooled him once, twice even thrice.

He knows that he isn’t what was, but what is and can be. Can’t walk into the past with a closed door, so he pushes the old ones open looking for a way to weave around the crops and take them by the roots.

It hurts, it hurts but it’s over and done with.

Writings From The Cafe. Part 4. B.T.

Feared Childhood

Hello bellows stranger, smiling
Response returned, screams
Watching beady eyes, dialing
Numbers shredded through their mind as they’re calculating how long another reply is going to take

Strangled by the tension, eating away at the shrapnel covered bones that lay upon my beating heart
Burying me among the blossoming beats
Grinning as I return the glance

Little was known, the little boy inside of me was protecting the adult me from what happened long ago
Shrieks, laughs, mocking
Taunting and teasing
Sticks, word stones strewn

Quickly, racing around in the circles of my bottomless galaxy
Get out of here, but my body is responding in similar ways as my child – like self did

Up, worried, scared running further
Soaring through the wind with whiplashes of the scenery warping beneath my feet

Home, at last.

Tense Bewilderment

Growing up you told me to layer up
Little did I know that you meant more than just in accord of the weather

Boys were told that they were stronger
Girls were made out to be the weaker ones
Atleast when I was younger

There are seperately shot put balls for the girls and for the boys
One set for the weaker sex
One for the stronger
And as sexist as it was, I didn’t know any better

So I struck up my own confidence, ran out of site and picked up the heavier weight
Using most of my strength to hover it into the air, bam, it landed so hard and so fast
But my, did I feel good for doing what I wanted

Not fitting in, segregated
Was told that I couldn’t do the same work as everyone else
Humiliated when I needed reassurance and repetition

Are you a boy? They all chanted knowing who I identified as, it still hurt
It still does

Broken, but slowly healing.

Little did I know, just a little boy myself, that something would be ripped from me
Who’s to say what breaks you or makes you
Analyze, study different aspects
Details, dissecting
I didn’t know that I’d come to hate someone so much
Blame one person for something I most likely gave consent to
Not even knowing what it meant, what was happening
In a daze, little things come to mind, rest a haze
Maze, walking through my mind and he had no idea just what he had stolen
If only he had said something, no
He moved forward, happily
Angry I was, such a hate chewing boy I was
And here I am, still in shambles, scrambling everywhere to discover the things that both broke and died

Alone is okay.

When you’re a kid, sometimes other children may poke fun at you because they see you sitting by the wall alone while they are playing on the playground. You just want to play by yourself or even sing songs to yourself.

When you’re a teenager, other teens calls you boring because you don’t want to drink underage or even in general and you’d rather stay inside on a friday night watching your favourite movie, rather than go to house parties or clubs with your friends. Being around people either brings you anxiety or you just prefer to spend time alone with your own thoughts.

When you’re an adult, many other adults will notice that you can barely keep a job long enough to even say that you’ve had a job or you don’t have a partner so you won’t most likely won’t find one in a long time. Maybe it’s just hard for you to be around people or even animals for some, maybe depression makes its’ way into your head and drags you down and makes it harder for you to make it out of the house for even as something simple as a coffee.

Regardless, it’s okay to have mental illnesses. They don’t define you. It’s also okay to prefer to be alone. Sometimes for some people, being alone is more beneficial for them than conversing with someone else.

Awakened Stamps

When I was a little boy, I was a girl                                                                                                                                                 who enjoyed the presence of dinky cars and                                                                                                                                   ninja turtles pizza shooting toys

Hanging around girls is where you could usually find me                                                                                                           getting excited                                                                                                                                                                               liberated by the thought of people seeing me                                                                                                                               how I felt inside and wondering how I got mixed among the company of the opposite sex

It wasn’t until my hips widened and my given labels made me feel dysphoric                                                                             before I realized what Dysphoric meant                                                                                                                                           that I came to the realization that I was not the stamp that was implanted                                                                                     upon my very being nor did I really fit under one category of personality                                                                                     but too fluid to even have one word to be the definition of