Existential

I'd like to not exist
Than to live this life as it is
To see suffering all around
With no eyelids in pain

 
Speed run through the stages of grieve
In one 45 minute commute
Parents ununderstanding
Mother unempathising

Lip service
Shallow words
They call autism an affliction
Like an Victorian dame with the consumption

They don't get it
They never will
But some days I hope
And then after I hurt

I rarely hope
but at the times I do
When it dies I hurt
And I grieve through and through

The knife holds temptation
To make my pain visual
Red, the colour of blood
Cherries ripened by despair

Lost. Loss. Lose the hope
I don't want it why bother
It heralds despair
Depression
Sadness at disconnection

Cut
Pain
Want
Hurt
Blood

Must not
Will not
Why why why does the psyche create hope
Hope always dies, pain always follows

Death
Sweet death
I yearn for thee

Silence at last
Please come for me
Take me to the silence
Where I won't be tortured by hope

Wistful

Today I wish to be dead

But that does not mean anything

For the wish is fervent and constant

Minute after minute

Day after day

It has moods that waxes and wanes

When things are worse it gains strength

When things are better it fades a little

But it’s still there

Wish upon wish

To be, to do, to spread good

To love

Competing interests

For quiet, for end, for death

For good, for love, for joy

If only the world would stop

Stop for one cycle around the sun

Stop hoarding, stop collecting, stop killing

Just stop.

Let’s collect stories instead

To share our words, our experiences, our souls

Our vision, our dreams, our art

Today I wish to be dead

But so too did I yesterday

As will I tomorrow

But yet, I remain

I want to be a ghost

 

I mask my words but rarely my face

When I wish to speak it’s never the place

My words my politics you’ll never embrace

If I wait for permission I’ll just be erased

 

Stepping out my flat is an exercise in bravery

The world is caught in capitalist slavery

The rich upholding the structure of patriarchy

Everyone to some extent acquiesces to conformity

 

To most I am different, an oddball, abnormal

I didn’t choose this outcome, to be nonconformal

I was born out of time, my gestation subnormal

I was born out of place, not out the right canal

 

I wish I didn’t see all the world’s suffering

I wish I couldn’t hear all that silent screaming

I wish I didn’t feel all the narcissists’ abuse

I wish I didn’t live – I want to be a ghost

My brain is now marshmallow

Unable to teach

I am swimming in tallow 

Don't tell me don't tell me to go into the night

 When the ones in power are the horsemen of discrimination

Of racism of queer phobia of ableism of misinformation

Hammers of the abuser and anvil of the patriarchy

Ultimately all working for furthering white supremacy

I do not go gently into the good night

My mind filled with rage my heart filled with fright

My siblings abuse plagued, my world darkness blights

Don't tell me don't tell me to look to the light

My poetry is getting more and more unhinged

As my brain and my heart gets increasingly deranged

Is it me am I mad or is this world just strange

Where billionaires are heroes but activists get lynched

I have no fight left to give, just poetry to recite

This world's worn me down for I am queer and am not white 

My life darkness takes, my pen my only might

Don't tell me don't tell me to go into the night

I do not go gently into that good night

 I do not go gently into that good night

The system has robbed me off all of the light

I don't know how much there is left in me of 'fight'

Don't tell me don't tell me to look to the light

I have no control over what people think of me

I just live my life with my full authenticity

I don't hide I don't veil I am what you see

The result of trauma of disorder of suicidality

I cannot tell you what's wrong or what's right

But I can feel in my heart when the night takes the light

When prejudice prevails and evil incites

Don't tell me don't tell me to look to the light

I rage against the dying of the light

 

I rage against the dying of the light

But my hands are tied,

My words are silenced

 

I see no tunnel, and therefore no light

The night consumes

The darkness blanketing

 

Do not go gently into the good night

I will not I assure you

But this night is not good

 

This night is imposed

Prejudiced preconceptions

Character assassination

 

This fog, this mist, this smog endless

Externally generated

Not nature intended

 

Rage rage with nowhere to go

Rage rage at lies and waffle

Rage rage against the system

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Helpless crying rage
Judgy words on a page
prejudice all around
preconceptions tie and bound

Abuse from all directions
wanton misinformation
wither human compassion
awful awful situation

A problem with society

 I live with heart on sleeve

authenticity unconstrained
empathy overflowing

On badges, on earrings, on necklaces,
On lanyards, on tattoos.. even on hair
I display more of me than many think appropriate
For if I hide too much I end up dead

Some people judge me harshly
some resent and frown
some blame and say

"if you conform you won't get all this negative attention you complain about"

they feel an instant dislike, a lightning dismissal

But are they mad at me
or mad at themselves?

for they see their inauthenticity reflected back to them
my nonconformity highlights their conformity
they see that i've cast off the chains they still have on
the restraints of society, tight around their body

while i, with my free expression, am all cast loose

it is a trade, for they move less visibly
they may not be free, but fitting in is valued
and they have a privilege - their conformity demands less acceptance less tolerance, just... Less..

It is a lie, and a deception, for in their invisibility, is it safety they really gain?
Or just a decrease in vulnerability?
Two sides of a coin, or maybe..
The same side described in different words

I don't do what I do to attract negative attention
It is not the goal
though people accuse me of it
It is not

I wear my authenticity
Because of I don't
I'll be dead

That's the plain truth
And if that increases my vulnerability
That is not a problem with me
It is a problem with society

Oh December Period of maudlin despair How loud shout your defenders With bells and songs to spare

Oh dark winter evenings Creeping with quiet desperations Building up silent longings Of future and past companions

Oh cold chilly air Blow in winds of sadness Settling in my cozy lair With my memories and loneliness

I

i DID
i PTSD
i ADHD
i autism

i activist
i educator
i advocate
i volunteer

i teacher
i technician
i troubleshooter
i scientist

i bisexual
i female
i nonbinary
i cis

i sex positive
i polyamorous
i vagina museum staff
i person with vagina

i immigrant
i racialised
i blue hair
i rainbow clothes

i chef
i crochet artist
i sewist
i poet

i friend
i lover
i sister i auntie i catmum

i human
i person
i worthy
i whole

you stranger
you intruder
you authority
you questioner

you assessor
you reporter
you interogator
you glancer

you judge
you jury
you executor
you persecutor

this is a poem about a person with many conditions
a person with many sides and many facets
and like a diamond, a ball, or a five hundred year old cropolite
it is not possible to see all sides at the same time in a snapshot

this is called having four dimensions

is masking a lie
if masking helps to keep them alive
in a world unsafe
a world imposing
a world of judgement
and endless harrassment