Been thrifty my whole life, eating out of dumpsters digging through people’s trash. Pieced together how I should act from the letters they threw out.
Must’ve been 10 when I started thinking of bulk trash day as a holiday. Taking people’s furniture trying to arrange my room like theirs.
Too scared to be myself, too worried what others would think. So I borrowed someone else’s life, they had an extra room.
Living in their attic wasn’t bad, I can be myself in one room. Too hard for the mom to climb up so she hasn’t seen the new window I put in.
Breathe in deep every time I climb up, finally feel at home in a house I spend all day as a homemaker in. Wondering if it’s the cleaner making me not able to take a deep breathe in the rest of the house.
I thought I’d be alright, the life fit okay, ’til it gave me a rash around my neck I couldn’t stop scratching. When I realized I was itching for a rope I knew something had to change.
Done tried this before, wearing some boy’s clothes for 25 years. Found myself on the edge of a parking garage, convinced if I was flying they’d fit right.
But here I am again, smile popping on my face when they call me mommy on accident. Thinking about how I should’ve been a mother, should’ve been a wife as I tire of being a true trans soul rebel.
Saw you and thought you needed a side kick and you were an impersonation I could do. 19 months later I realize I’m just kicking myself right now.
Know how to be that kind of mom but I know it ain’t me. Digging through your change purse trying to find someone else to be.
Now I got three kids staring up at me asking what’s for dinner. Ain’t cooked nothing for myself in months, been starving myself with gummy bears and ice cream.
168 hours later I don’t think I can keep it up. Catch myself staring at the sheets counting how many threads, wondering if they’ve been washed in the last 4 days.
Peering in the garbage cans as I walk into the kids fancy preschool wondering why I’m here. Hiding the dirt under my nails only to show the scars on my forearms.
Screaming punk lyrics alone in the car dreaming of being homeless. Wondering what the future smells like searching for convertible tights in the kids section of target.
Trying to piece together which way to go. Feel like I’m juggling chainsaws but I ain’t got the certification to even turn one on.
Got 5 people talking to me making sure I don’t practice tying knots. Wondering what’s the point in not cashing out now.
Can’t make sense of what else I could do. Trying to play poker by myself because I’m tired of solitaire.