Oceanaic Evergreens

​You broke into laughter when you saw me that day because you said I was darker than the bottom of the ocean

And scarier than what inhabits it
I looked over your shoulder whilst you looking over mine

And for one second, I could have sworn I saw the devil shaking your eyes

But when I asked you, you shed a new layer and then another and another

Until you unraveled on the floor like a kick to a ball of yarn
I got a shovel and scooped you into a pale, dumped the contents into my hair and rubbed your embers on my face

Because atleast then, I knew you were vulnerable

Atleast then, I knew you couldn’t walk away
Soaking you in like a ray of light

Basking in your evergreens and your forevers
I found a new home that day

Not in you

But through you

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When the bullied became the bullier.

I came across a post on Tumblr by a blog that encouraged it’s followers to write a story starting off with or to contain the sentence ” Of course I was hurt the entire time. I just didn’t say anything. “

So I decided to share mine with my followers and people in general on here.

When the bullied became the bullier.

Of course I was hurt the whole time. I just didn’t say anything.

I had a hard time speaking up and using my voice. It was almost as though I hadn’t found a voice of my own that wasn’t shaky and half silent, half vocal.

They would taunt and tease me almost every single day.

You’re not feminine enough. Are you a boy or a girl? You write like a man. You’re in the wrong washroom, this is the girl’s.

Prior to being bullied regarding my gender identity, I had repeated grade 3 and that’s when it started. Before being called names and being made fun of, my biggest worry regarded getting home late after an after school activity and missing my favourite show on the television. I knew what bullying was, but I had never really been a victum of it before, or not to my awareness.

Can I do the same work as everyone else? I asked my grade 6 teacher. No you can’t.

No you can’t. 

Shot down by one of the school’s teachers. Just because I had a hard time with the work that the majority of other students my own age had been given.

Up until a few weeks ago, I hadn’t realized that being told that I couldn’t do something that other people could do, actually became the root of a few major incidents in my life. The root cause of many issues.

For years, I let people step over me, trample on me as though I almost wasn’t there. Treated as though my very presence was minor instead of influential.

Finally out of nowhere, my voice was found and it was being heard, but not listened to. Muffled by the gossip that flooded the halls, drowned out underneath the sea of fake friends and victumizers.

It was then that I became the bullier.

I stopped allowing people to treat me like a broken piece of glass. Word escaped my mouth that I wouldn’t dared to have spilt out prior. I stopped feeling bad for what I had thrown at others. Eventually, the feeling of power flooded through my veins and not just through my head.

Mind games. Torment. Emotional torture.

Eventually that’s what I put everyone through who crossed my paths, who showed any interest in me. I barely trusted anyone, so testing people became second nature to me after a while because it was easier to let people have my wrath, than for me to trust them right off the bat and have it gone to waste.

Balance finding.

Although I’ve been hurt, and hurt others, I’m trying harder to find a balance between trusting and not being too vulnerable. So far, it’s becoming less difficult.

Soul Department

I constantly wear something, it doesn’t glow, but it doesn’t radiate light                                                                                         Call it a mask, but I’d rather refer to it as a piece of cloth that was ripped                                                                                  from my skin                                                                                                                                                                                   It appears smooth, when it is really scruffy on the outside

Underneath, crawling insecurities bleeding through, pushing onwards                                                                                       It’s been molded perfectly, as though someone knew what it would look like                                                                           before it was placed                                                                                                                                                                 ontop of my bones

Scraping is impossible, tearing it off is what people                                                                                                                 have been trying to do to reveal                                                                                                                                       something else

But what they want to see is what they already are seeing, they just don’t care to believe it                                                               So digging inside is what they attempt to do, clawing, scratching at the windows of a soulless body

Coming out at work

Over the years, I have slowly come out to some people at offering work places. Sometimes I’m hesitant to come out to people I work with because not everyone accepts it. It’s not necessarily because I’m afraid to, I just don’t want to make things awkward, you know?

I haven’t really had any bad coming out situations, and I don’t really have a coming out story. As soon as I questioned my sexuality, I told my mom. It was awkward coming out to my dad I just don’t remember it that much.

I don’t really talk to my older brother about being a lesbian, but I’m okay with that.

I’ve come a long way with accepting myself. I also struggle with gender identity, but for now I only want to come out as a lesbian.

Today I came out to some of my coworkers only because the topic came up and I know that before I come out to people, there’s always that little fear where you think the person won’t accept you or be okay with it, but it usually isn’t that way for me.

I feel so much better because now I don’t have to refer to girls as “they” instead of “he” or “she”. I don’t have to lie and it’s not like I did, but I just didn’t say much.