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

I will die for you

 

I will die for you

For dying is easy

I will not live for you

Or for anyone

If my life is unbearable

I can live for joy, for freedom, and for love

I can live for happiness, for connection and for synchronicity

When my brain waves align

With Butternut, or with Jay

That is ecstasy

 

But teaching the kids or paying the bills

The daily toil of cooking, of laundry

Of the smelly lift and effing commute

I do not live for that

That is not life

 

I do not want to serve capitalism

But I am alive and therefore I must

I live for the good times

But the toil of earning the freedom to do so

Day after day, year after year

 

If that is all that life is, then I would rather die.

I live to create, I live to connect, I live to enjoy.

I do not live for any one soul,

But if my death would benefit you in a way that makes me joyous

I will die for you

 

 

 

 

WHAT DOES SHE KNOW, SHE'S JUST A TECHNICIAN- a poem

 

What do I know I’m just a technician

I only have a meagre 13 years’ experience

You’d like to do some microscope acquisition?

Nah don’t look for me I’m just a technician

 

How much was that new microscope Ki?

Just under a million, I reckon ay?

When will it be our lab’s turn to try?

We want to look at our mutant fruit fly

 

Don’t come to me I’m not an expert

What do I know of the microscope invert

Mind that 30k lens on the objective turret

Scratches and crashes you may want to avert

 

What do I know I’m just a technician

I’m not a high browed grey-haired academician

I know which scopes have better transmission

I can probably explain complex super resolution

 

I must have a use or why am I employed

I help image cells, tissues, organoids and spheroids

But yet when I raise techniques to avoid

I get treated like I’m not even humanoid

 

What do I know I’m just a technician

What do I know about photon emission

Or about the importance of experiment repetition

What do I know I’m just a technician

 

 

 

 

 

Authenticity or Death

Authenticity or Death

From the first self awareness
To the first suppressed breath
To the first dissociation
It's authenticity or death

Mid twenties

panic attacks

hearing voices

figuring out sources

Doctors,

medications,

therapists, 

treatments

Naming the condition

trauma dissociations

emotional and psychological manipulations

of a very young child

Not my words, 

but great relief

To know what's wrong

Trauma dissociations
Reintegrations

Living with conditions

It's authenticity or death

when authenticity is suppressed

the wound is not visible

but when you split a personality

and lock it in a closet

one day it will escape

and if not acknowledged

not listened to

attempt to repress

it may quite end in death

Self harm, suicidal ideation

a mess of thoughts a short of breath

A choice, or not, an eventual decision

acknowledgement, acceptance

It's authenticity or death.

A Counsellor's Lament

In the larger picture, the longsighted lens, the distant future
All I want is to help people
To give, to love, to encourage and reassure
All I want is to help people

In the you, is your self, your being, your life, your spirit
To you I am but a mirror
I reflect your love, your beauty, your worth and your music
On my glass plate painted with silver

But if you show hurt, anger, frustration and strive
With love I try to help you,
Your self worth, your confidence, your strength and your drive,
With empathy I will try to boost you.

In your worth, your esteem, your confidence, your breath
Is where lay your foundations to joy
They belong inside you, within your depths
Not outside as another’s toy

In the larger picture, the longsighted lens, the distant future
All I want is to help people
To give, to love, to encourage and reassure
All I want is to help people

It doesn't hurt to try

"it doesn't hurt to try" (to be patient with a lgbt-phobic parent)

When does hurt count as hurt??

When the lgbt child tries for 10 years, with endless patience to explain their life to their parent, to share links and articles, and even to write some themselves in the futile attempt to 'try' to be understood?
When the lgbt child is rejected and condemned repeatedly, just for existing?
When the lgbt child has been kicked out and is homeless?
When the lgbt child feels isolated and has no one to talk to?
When the lgbt child feels wrong for existing as they are?
When the lgbt child gets depresed?
When the lgbt child self-harms?
When the lgbt child seeks medical help for mental health issues?
When the lgbt child kills themself?

It doesn't hurt to try....

You are wrong...

I've been there...

It CAN and DOES hurt.

Goodbye mother

You cannot love me

If you think I am possessed

You cannot love me

If you think I'm devil blessed

You cannot love me

If you don't know my life

You cannot love me

If you don't know my daily strife

If you cannot love me

For as long as I am bisexual

Then I cannot love you

As long as you're that judgemental

You cannot love me

If you can't accept my good

You cannot love me

If you think I am no good

Even if you think I am Satan's possession

Condemning my deeds won't bring me to you

My love my good my unending compassion

Is reserved for those who do love me too

Did Jesus not say, 'judge not lest ye be judged'

The Christians I know, to that they adhere

Your hate, your fear, your words do begrudge

Your judgment echoes so loud and so clear

You cannot love me

If you place faith above blood

Jesus would have loved me

But your heart judgment floods

Goodbye mother

We part now for good

I'm no more your daughter

I cut now our blood.

Who do you love mother,
your child and your progeny,
How much do you know of her
This person in your family tree.

What do you love mother,
The carrier of your genes,
How much do you know of her,
Does she love greens or jeans?

Do you see the good in her
Her kindness and her love
The intelligence of this microscope whisperer
The skill within her glove.

Do you just see the devil
When she speaks of her love for girls
Do you think she’s just a rebel
Out in town for some twirls.

Do you think she is wicked
For detesting the president-elect
The rights she had gain he would undid
Her life his believes can wreck

Do you see how much she cares for the world
The time she gives to those in need
Do you believe she’s destined for the underworld
Despite the blood she bleeds

How much do you know of her, mother
Her causes, advocacy and activism
The good is there and clear to all
She’s shown unbridled altruism.

Who do you love mother,
Just your child and your progeny,
Will you love her person whole,
Or just your Gs, Cs, As, and Ts?

Do Not Say You Know Me

Do not say you know me,
Just because I bear your genes.
Do not say you know me,
Just because you watched my teens.

From as young as seven
I was taught to tell untruths
When I reached eleven
I reached outside for a sooth

Do not say you know me,
Just because I lived with you
Do not say you know me,
Just because the years accrue,

When I was young you taught deceit
You told me white lies were harmless
And week after week you made me repeat
That soon I could lie with finesse

Do not say you know me
Though you can say you love
Do not say you know me
If you know of the past I speak of

I bear scars from those days
5 years don't just disappear
your eyes please unglaze
and listen to me hear

Do not say you know me
For I know well that you don't
Do not say you know me
For the me you know has flown.

In the Halls of Learning

The sky is a greyish white
like the shutters over the window,
I look towards the hazy light
wishing I was out below

Away from this high-walled hall
and out where the sky is blue,
Having fun to nature's call
absorbing warmth from the spring sun's hue.

Far away from lectures of lasers
or even semiconductors and nanostructures,
I'd rather be paddling in rivers
or scaling magestic rock structures.

Looking over fields and flowers
Feeling the breeze on exposed skin,
Living life like first time lovers
Frolicking free with my heart's kin.

Enjoying the smells of grassy spring
of flowers and fruits and morning dew,
Listening to flying birds chirp and sing
As the dawn sun starts the day anew.