for many years
i was unable even to try
to write a cv
as this task made me so sad
i don’t think such feelings are uncommon
read on . . .
for many years
i was unable even to try
to write a cv
as this task made me so sad
i don’t think such feelings are uncommon
read on . . .
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 too, 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)
it is a false power that requires the destruction or inhibition of your power?
but that is the reality of power
and some may inhibit themselves when they see it
perhaps this explains free will – and I’d have to think and study if it relates at all to Old Nick and his hell
is it that we are allowed hell, in this sense, as removed from the divine, if we insist – we certainly do seem to insist a lot
i’m reading a Selected Poems of Zbigniew Herbert
he has a poem ‘Sister’ that speaks of becoming her, and also another switch of identity later
now, i’m not even looking at this in any trans point of view either, just a child’s exploration – an understanding Gran in some way too is mentioned
But, what it made me think, from this, then at a huge tangent that grows and melds into many others —
for my real imagined other Their’s the earth, the world, mountain, moon. Their’s not this earth, married in the sun. They are whole, whole, holy. Let us dream their path, poetry. Where now is she, where he. Where are we. What do we have. Squabbling city guards silence, always. Playing games, skimming loads, naming to…
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