Tag Archives: writing

to an old friend: a letter I’ll never send

I remember getting mad at you for things you couldn’t control. I was so naive back then and so were you. I remember when you told me you couldn’t be there for me and I took it personal. I realized later that it wasn’t personal, but the way you treated me made it feel like it was. I was an afterthought in your day, and you could never care for me the way I needed. The way anyone needed. I was an inconvenience to you, and you taught me to keep my feelings to myself. Yet another thing I’m unlearning.

You were never an inconvenience to me, and that’s what made me bitter for a while. I cared for you, I cared for our friends. I was bad at showing it, sure, but you couldn’t deny the love was there. Or maybe you could, you always had this picture of me in your head. But it wasn’t me, it was someone else. Someone that looked like me but acted on their rage. Like I was out to get you. And maybe that wasn’t my fault, maybe that was your own inner demons telling you I was bad for you. Either way, we parted ways and I know it was for the best, but I can’t deny I miss it.

I don’t miss much, but I miss it. I don’t miss the arguments, I don’t miss the gaslighting, I don’t miss pushing the blame. But I miss the jokes, I miss the closeness. I’ve been alone so long; I can’t remember what it feels like to know someone else cares. I imagine it feels warm. I imagine it feels like a blanket that just came out of the dryer. I imagine it feels like the sun against my skin in the summer, and the wind against my face as I’m driving.

This isn’t a love letter; I don’t want you back. I don’t want any of our old friends back. I just want you to know I’m not angry anymore.

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I want to be brave for you

I want to smile when it rains

I want to answer when you call.

I don’t want to live in fear,

it’ll be the death of me

but where do we go from here?

I’m trying,

but I’m tired of trying

and getting no results.

I want to be brave

like I was when I was ten.

I want to feel the wind against my skin

and not cower away.

I want to feel

again

I’m done with this complacency,

this everlasting loneliness.

it’s like they turned the lights out

and I can’t find the switch.

I want to be brave

for myself

so I can say I beat the demons in my head

I don’t want to be brave

for anyone else

because if I’m doing this for you

and you leave

what’s left to fight for?

I want to be strong

for myself

so I can look back

and smile when it rains.

my life is not meant to make you comfortable

I started to realize why people come out

it’s not because they want to be brave

it’s not because they want to be a shining light

it’s because they’re angry

at the injustice being thrown upon them

and the words ignorant people speak

not directly at them

but meant for them-

they hurt

and they anger us

until we finally speak out

and in my 23 years

I’ve barely seen change

for the trans community

and people are so openly saying

we don’t exist

we’re just confused

but we are here

and we’re not going away

despite what makes you uncomfortable

my life is not meant to make you comfortable

the world won’t matter

I have fallen in love before

and it’ll likely happen again

I just hope the next time

it’ll be with your wit

or your smile

or your hair.

If I fall in love again

I want it to matter

more than it did

when I fell for someone

who didn’t love me back.

I want you to love me

I want to matter to you

I want to hear you say my name

lovingly

as we watch our favorite show.

Because the world won’t matter

until you say my name.

Birds | #flashfiction

It was a brisk spring morning, not a sound but the birds in the sky. The birds sing to each other, a song I can’t quite understand, but it comforts me. It’s the sounds of the spring and summer, and they start bright and early.

I sit and I listen, and I wonder. I wonder what it means to matter, what it means to fly. I wonder why the birds sing in the morning and wake me, and I wonder why I leave my window cracked to let them. I guess it’s a sense of familiarity, that no matter where I’m waking up, there will be birds. They’ll wake me first thing and I’ll feel tired in the morning, but I’ll wake up after some coffee and eggs and toast.

I sit and I listen to the birds, and I notice the difference in their calls. Some are one same repetitive sound, some are intricate, and some are making it up as they go. Or at least it seems that way. They all have the same effect. It all wakes me before my alarm, and I can’t help but listen.

I sit and I listen, and I wonder what it’s like to fly like a bird. I wonder how it feels to glide with the breeze, this effortless instinct that could never come natural to me. I feel jealous of the birds, their lives feel so much simpler than mine.

I sit and I listen, and I imagine I am a bird. I close my eyes as I lay in bed and I pretend I am soaring high above the clouds, or down within the trees. I’m collecting twigs and trash for my nest and I’m singing for the people still asleep.

I wonder if birds feel loneliness. I think it must be easier to be a bird, even if they do feel lonely. To be a blue jay or a robin or maybe even a hawk. I wonder if birds feel lonely, what do they do? Do they go for a fly to take their minds off it? Do they find other birds to connect with? Is that why they sing and wake me? Because they feel the same loneliness I do, and they just want to belong.

I sit and I listen, and I know if I could fly, I wouldn’t feel this overwhelming isolation. If I could fly, if I were a bird, I could blend in, I could be a part of nature. I could migrate south in the winter and travel the world. I could be something bigger than I could ever be as a human. I could contribute to the ecosystem, instead of destroying it. I could matter. If I were a bird, if I could fly, I would matter.

the sticky summer air

The sticky summer air

wants to know how I’ve been

since we last talked.

I’ve had my ups and downs

but I’m here now.

I didn’t find God

but I did find a purpose

hidden somewhere between the stationary aisle of CVS

and New England in September.

Sometimes winter feels like going

through hell and back just to

feel summer warmth again

but it’s worth it

or at least there’s some gratitude

as I’m sitting under

a cherry blossom

and I feel myself blossom,

too.