Ev

hello, crisis hotline. how're you doing today?

hi, i'm feeling stressed.

i'm sorry to hear that.

what's worrying you?

too much.

it's just my kids.

they haven't talked to me much in years.

just enough to keep things civil.

i just can't think of what i did wrong.

sounds like you care about your family a lot.

i do.

it's just.

everyone is too sensitive these days.

that's what i think.

is there anything else bothering you today?

yeah, have you seen what's been going on on the news?

yes, unfortunately.

i mean. could you imaging your daughter having to share a locker room with a man?

it's ridiculous!

these transgenders have no right trying to convince us that they're girls or-

i'm sorry to cut you off.

(the feeling in my chest right now.)

(it's telling me there's danger.)

(it's telling me i need to leave any way i can.)

(this isn't what i'm supposed to do.)

(this isn't what I'm supposed to do.)

  (this isn't what i'm supposed to do.)

   (i'm here to help.)

    (no matter what.)

(i need to protect myself.)

(but i'm a service for him.)

(remember what they say.)

i'm sorry to interrupt, sir.

(you have to be vulnerable always.)

i need to inform you that you're speaking to a trans woman who is very uncomfortable with this discussion.

(show him kindness.)

if you'd like to discuss something else that's bothering you sir, i'd be more than happy to talk about it.

(this isnt what i'm supposed to do.)

(this isn't what i'm supposed to do.)

(this isn't what i'm supposed to do.)

   (i have a right to be angry.)

   (i have a right to be hostile.)

otherwise, i'm going to have to end this call.

(breathe)

(god, breathe, please!)

(my chest feels like i'm going to explode.)

(this hurts.)

(i might die if i don't run away.)

(i might throw up if i have to keep talking to him.)

(it's not just a difference in political opinion to think i'm some sort of sex offender.)

(it's an act of war.)

well, i-

click

(this isn't what i'm supposed to do.)

(this isn't what i'm supposed to do.)

  (this isn't what i'm supposed to do.)

    (breathe.)

     (breathe.)

swaying back and forth

one foot in front of the other

leaving no gaps in this line i trace

the line rises above me

further and further

always out of my reach

a descent

into the welcome arms below

we've become all too familiar

i sink deeper and deeper until

all i see are little lines

a welcome escape

yet i set one foot in front of the other

what other choice do i have?

the seasons change and suddenly

there's less skin in the world

there's more breath

exhaled beside snowbanks

rising up to the pitch black 5pm sky

the seasons change and I mourn

my favorite costumes

placed into a drawer

to be found again next year

the seasons change and I remember

there's more than one way

to feel like the skin I wear

is the skin that I've earned

the seasons change and I rediscover

ways to expose

the love i feel for myself

to the elements

flowers are lain along my silhouette

each placed on the stark boundary

between me and something else

a younger self plucks off a crown

and wears it over her eyes

to block out the fear

and try again

search the cracks for any sign of light

feel for embers in every nook

ignore the breeze upon your back

ive been on fire before

i know how this goes

one day ill turn around

and find ive missed all the signs

please forgive me if i dont hear

the love you sing softly

my ears are busy cupped to a wall

hearing for the crackle of a flame

winter into spring into summer

i smell for smoke as i pack my things

life uprooted from walls

to be replanted somewhere new

the ceiling eager for new laughter and sorrow

love and stillness

i know now houses arent built to burn

theyre made to change

like those who live in them

wheat into bread

dandelions into wine

they need work from careful hands

burned or not

I return to my origin and wade through the pool. My reflection gazes up at me with eyes tired like mine. She searches the abyss of my pupils and scries a life she could only dream.

I see the stars in her eyes, but mine are underlined by the tears she never cried. For me, it hurts to look, but for her it hurts to look away. I am her hope and she is my despair. We are a wish things will improve on their own.

I pull the plug and let the water drain as guilt begins to pool in me. I decide to let that drain too because I'm not deserting her. I know my reflection is only a mirage. I am her and she is me. I'll save her only by saving myself. I wring my hair and wipe the sand from my feet. Her dream can't hurt too.

I, the conjured

I, the escapist

take my hand

turn my back

and continue

things creep up from the ground sometimes

and i alone cannot carry what i find

it must be folded into intricate swirls

complexities placed between petals

for fear it would be misinterpreted

the wallpaper is covered with lilies

paste between paper and paint

then peeled and tucked into gaps in the walls

the garden is lush

but only lends itself

to the bones beneath the soil

their ghosts long to be heard

but what have you done

to deserve the sounds

of drowned voices

of splintered children

neglected in the sun

i couldn't wish those songs on you

but they remain too heavy

to be held with two hands

the lilies can't bloom

unless it is known

what their roots embrace

there lies the irony

i think god smells of ozone and bile

and dinner stuck between kitchen tiles

scrubbed bare yet the divine lingers still

insert more prose of rotten smelling wine

the mildew on your towel

the stale leaves in the cold wood

and your hand warming mine

swapping oils

swapping spit

ethereal beauty in grotesque humanity

death and life are a lovely couple

The tears absent front my face

Instead fill my lungs

The warm saline replaced by frozen algae

Skin frostbitten from the summer wind

Towel draped over my shoulders

As if it could warm me down to the soul

I find temporary comfort in learning

The laws of black and white squares

As if I didn’t die minutes before

The hours already leaking

Leaving only a cerulean ghost

Her corpse below in the amber brew

The lady of the black mud and muck

Prays to her own visage

That the burn in her throat

Will melt the ice in her rib cage

3 out of 4 of my aunt’s husbands died in motor accidents

I’m with my blood and I find I don’t belong anymore

I remember that I never did

I tried so hard to fit in out of survival

But I always pulled a muscle

And I always woke up stiff

I couldn’t pretend to be ok with being hurt

3 out of 4 of my aunt’s husbands died in motor accidents

I think of the time I ran the family truck into our front porch

Ruined the architecture that stood all my life

Upholding the culture of kin

All I could do was laugh

There was no fear or anger

Only adrenaline

3 out of 4 of my aunt’s husbands died in motor accidents

And I thank whatever power that gave me you

We are together in silent understanding

In a state of shock and fear

When we’re alone I coat you in my lip balm

And check in in hushed tones

I’m thankful for your eyes

To see I wasn’t crazy to think it all wrong

Seeing I don’t belong here

And why that’s a good thing

3 out of 4 of my aunt’s husbands died in motor accidents

Three men who marked her purple

One who made her show us all and blame the stairs

Here, we are haunted by serendipity

Something between a blessing and a curse

A hereditary stain that can’t be scrubbed

But you can't you define a pattern

When no two lives are the same

No control group

Just a group desperately grasping for control

Last night i had a dream i was exploring my own mouth

But it wasn’t warm

It was a cold vast cistern

Dark and dry save for puddles here and there

Do you think when we pass strangers on the sidewalk

Without a greeting or a glance

Do you think us cold?

I’ve spent most of this year afraid I'd die

Mostly scared to not grow old with those I love

But also scared I’d never melt my icy demeanor

Scared I wouldn’t be remembered as kind

A hearth to gather and recuperate

One day the fire will die out

But not before the kindling has struck

one day you'll be doing the dishes

and you'll stop for a second and think

maybe being here isn't so bad

maybe i should let go of the disgust

take off my gloves

and dive my fingers into the warm water

give the tools for our sustenance

kind maintenance

you'll realize

maybe the soapy shallows

aren't so bad

maybe the fake orange light in the suds

isn't so bad

maybe i can cease my constant impulse

to escape the present moment

and sit here

pruny fingers

and say this time may feel eternal

but it'll end like all things

and the time spent here and now

is time well spent

one day you'll stop romanticizing the future

one day you'll stop romanticizing the past

and wash the dishes