June 27th, 2011



Pride, butches.

Note to "Family" (the ones I was born with, not the ones who occupy my days) :

I call You on Mother's Day; Father's Day
I visit every other year for Christmas
I don't give a shit about these days of their own accord
but you do, and I love you
it's (called) Making an Emotional Effort

I didn't hear from you this weekend for Happy Faggot's Day
no calls saying "Cool, I'm glad you're a little more Free in this selectively free country"
no "Congratulations! you've kinda got The same rights we do... but you'd better stay in the sanctioned states if you want it to really mean anything"

do any of you
or fiercer than I
have a suggestion about demanding my birth family (whoa! I typed "money"!) put some more effort into recognizing my existence?

seek to understand, not be understood, right?

I know some think I should just forget them
but that's not really Whole

I've often been obsessed with integrity and wholeness
but I've not been able to look at the homeless guys on the subway who can hardly talk and scream/groan about how they're hungry and need something, anything you can give
there is something fractured in me that frightens me of them in a way I never have been before
reality being so big and honest and truthful
they can feel my avoidance
my lack of support, acceptance, love
it hurts
but I'd rather they dry, like a raisin in the sun
like skin tags on fat men's necks: just desiccate and fall off!
why try so hard to stay around?
why make a show of it?
why keep existing?
why should I support you?
why can't I love you and fold you into reality in your necessary place?
you've stopped making sense to me
-- I'm developing blind spots that will become debilitating
damn "aging"
fucking stupid choices I made in fear and ignorance

I am imperfect
I am dirty

lately I'm complicit with that
I don't want to shower
let it lay
blend in
strata upon strata
I can't think of any betta