Heavy Backpack

I have published a kindle ebook verison of my first poetry chapbook. These poems capture a moment in time of my life while I couldn’t work on bigger creative projects due to an assault. The collection reflects my resiliency and recovery as I used poetry to survive a difficult period in my life.

Kindle ebook

I’ve spent too many days carrying my home in backpacks and heavy purses. Now my body’s sore and my heart beat is catching up, it’s had to echo a few too many times for a queer my age.

I am writing a song to sing one day but my throat’s still sore from calling for help so many times.

I’m sinking sinking fall.
I’m bottom of the pit get up again far.
I’m too tired can’t try anymore.

My friends be thinking but you’ve been this way a year aren’t you over it yet. 

They want me to speak softly but I’ve got that boom boom echo.        

They’ve been telling me to stand up straight my whole life but my entire body has always been queer. My neck is stiff from your expectations. My hands are numb from holding in my fists. My legs shake from not running when I should have. My voice aches from being told I need to sing before I’d ever be heard.

They want me to speak softly but I’ve got that boom, boom, echo.

This has always been me, gender just came crashing down
Screaming glitter, it’s time you just be you now.

No need for facades or lies, shine like your star might go at any time. Your star could go out any time. Be afraid and do it anyway, there is no try just do, slap your spiritual teachers and propel right past them.

Stop waiting for your turn, cause they’ll go around the circle five nine times before you realize you don’t get a turn and everyone’s waiting for your screams cause otherwise they’ll never know you’re not alright. 25 circles around the sun, it’s my turn, I’m screaming;

I’m not alright- because I’ve had to make homes in backpacks and heavy purses and I’m done with being told it’s my fault that the world isn’t used to stars that shine like me; and there’s people begging for my light to go out while I am praying to stay alive.

It’s funny because even though it hurts all over I’m actually getting healthier. The aches in my body a sign I’ve slowed down enough to listen to it. Every spasm is a scream, every facial tic energy being released. Letting go of what no longer serves me, I serve myself, gentle hands, asking for help, taking the medicine that is offered to me, trusting that my sense of god will get me through, doing things that don’t make sense to anyone else and no longer apologizing.

Because I should have never been asked to stand up tall when they expected me to carry my home in backpacks and heavy purses and it’s not my fault that the weight has hurt me or that I’ve fallen so many times scared of ever falling again, but knowing when I am on the ground, in pain, in fear, I will no longer hold in my screams for your comfort. And I will no longer lie and say I am ok. Stop making me beg for help with the bags you’ve weighed on me, when you are too afraid to confront what is also in yourself:

A not quite enough kind of sonderance and kitsch, the denial we are all human.

When you help me stand again, move my home out of heavy bags into a building made of bricks, maybe then I’ll learn how to sing,

Maybe then, you’ll have heard my screams.

Maybe then,

no one will have to make a home in backpacks and heavy purses.


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