one day i folded myself into a form – trimmed my edges, or everything they didn’t want – flavoured myself to an unreal specification

then posted this and found they wanted more

which is how i was trapped year after year – commuting myself into a box – trimmed and partial of all they might abhor – unboundaried thinking and being, the poet, oh and the trans bit as well, vital fuel for this engine

of course medicine made all this worse

i knew i was doing it too, had to, and the balance tipped, harder and harder to remedy it

in part it was clear as i was – and so got totally lost, not least as it hid how so many others were doing the same, a bit, some remedying it better, finding others

all my best bits, a whole problematic, thrived elsewhere, i knew, why i fed them, though lean and hungry at home – i even bored everyone, speaking of a person they just could not see, and they might have thought it my bad faith

here’s funny – they noticed and laughed, petted my head, some poked me to see what would happen and could not understand how my mad partiality protected a heart breathing true, almost alone, with its books and a pen, unwanted, folded and crying it knew


A. H / K. H-H (15th January 2020)

(the real observations ii?)