Harris for President, I guess.

So, election 2024.

When I was younger, I took absolute delight in understanding and picking apart politics. Process was this fascinating puzzle. So was figuring out how coalitions came together, how stuff winded through committees, how you could get surprising results, like Old Bush and Tip O’Neil coming together to put the clean air act into place. I wrote a lot about politics, both in blogs and in social media. I wanted to take this messy and complex thing and make it understandable. I still kind of want to do this sometimes.

But, that has gotten harder and harder and harder as the years have piled up. The first big hit was seeing how the Gingrich Congress unfolded. I was too young in 1994 to really understand what was happening, but Gingrich took the above approach and firmly rejected it in favor of a new, scorched-earth style of politics. Republicans of this period, quite overtly, stopped talking about careful policy proposals and opted for streamlined and centralized talking points. Right wing media arose at the same time, in the form of Rush Limbaugh and Fox News to reinforce this sort of newspeak, along with this notion of being at total war, even with the explicitly centrist Bill Clinton.

Even still, there was some joy in communicating the differences amongst even the Republicans. I’d hold primary watch parties. I’d liveblog states of the union. I’d cheerily talk about all of the stuff to kind of indicate why it *mattered* and how you could push the system in places to get outcomes. This got worse and worse. I endured the September 11th game of everyone who wasn’t explicitly with the Iraq war being accused of treason, and getting that much for even daring to suggest “perhaps going to Afghanistan without a plan is unwise.” Still, there were important and interesting differences inside both of the parties through the GWB era. And I could follow it, and have chats with my friends about all of it. It seemed like a critical mass of people were getting upset with how things were, and that the dam was breaking with the 2008 financial crisis. Obama won…

And around this time, three things happened that changed my relationship to politics. First, there was a hyper-acrimonious primary that was nearly completely online for the most part. It was very interesting watching friends groups destroy themselves over what was, to me, a very small policy difference between Clinton and Obama. Second, the republicans, out of racism and what seemed to be a realigning election, went absolutely apocalyptic in their resistance to Obama. The “everything gets filibustered” behavior became even larger, which lead to the third thing, which was Obamacare’s initial passage being pretty much the last hurrah of any ordinary process for a bill passing Congress. Even this process involved a bunch of nasty private negotiating, most notably Ben Nelson aggressively holding out unilaterally on the bill. This last feature would become a key feature of pretty much all future congressional wranglings, with committees being replaced by ping-pong legislation between the two chambers and the President, with committees being de-emphasized more and more, and the real understanding coming down to Kremlinology of the Speaker, the President, and the Senate Majoritiy leader, along with maybe some party holdouts. In such an environment, there is nothing really to follow, and even organizing is close to meaningless, because the decision comes down to “I hope this asshole from West Virginia is merciful”.

And so, Donald J. Trump got elected. There’s not much useful to add on to the pile of Donald Trump discourse, but all I really will say is that the purpose of Donald Trump is not to inspire, not to solve problems, not to do anything but to be mean. The media has tried to call him out for his namecalling and meanspiritedness, but that’s the point of him. His supporters are angry, and nihlistic, and don’t want solutions, they want someone to blame, and he is blaming them in blunt, harsh, and direct terms. Since the Republican party has become the Trump party, to the extent that for most of that period, the Republicans have had various blocks in the place in the system, there is no talk of anything but “surviving this”. Who, at the moment, the exact white whale that Captain Ahab is stabbing at from time to time may vary, but he is there to stab, and no amount of legalistic or philosophical discussion can get through to him or his supporters. And it’s turned my analytical brain off.

And so, we’re at election 2024, in late October. Most election forecasting shows a 50/50 shot for the election. We have, in Kamala Harris, someone who is desperately avoiding so many issues, most notably Gaza, but in the face of the Republican closing message on this election being “demonizing trans people”, she can only muster “I will follow the law” on a question of fundamental rights. No comment on Israel expanding its war to Lebanon, or on them firing on UN peacekeepers. She threw the people dying on the border under the bus in her first week of having the nomination, resetting the debate about immigration to “catastrophically deporting 20 million people” versus “draconian compromise border bill”. Even “codify Roe into law” does not do enough to protect people needing abortion care or for the numerous other people whose bodily autonomy is desperately threatened. Nor does it repeal the fucking Hyde amendment. Also, of course, we did not have a real primary to get here, which eliminated the opportunity to have a public internal debate about all of this. And, also, of course, the DNC was so so so so jingoistic, even for a political convention.

But the thing is, with this years swift boat attempt being trans people, with the catastrophic hate that Trump brings to the table (and I honestly think focusing on the policy in project 2025 misses the point — I doubt Trump will systematically enact an agenda so much as “grab power and scream at opponents, and act vindictively), it’s pretty clear to me that the Democrats will be directly blaming trans rights for an election loss, and that Trump will be out to punish whoever he can to feed his ugly little hate machine.

I will be voting for Harris and Walz next week, but any joy in doing so will be long gone. Whoever wins, I will be investing in my local community and disengaging from national elections. I will be annoying to my state and federal legislators, and I will never ever ever shut up about trans rights. I don’t believe in voting as anything other than pushing a button and hoping for a response, and do not have the moral sense of “endorsement” that a lot of people have, and I vote with that in mind. Instead, I simply hope for a next four years where continuing to fight will be easier and more survivable. Anyone else’s path can be what it will be. I can absolutely understand not being willing to do the same, particularly from a state where the electoral college has rendered your individual vote irrelevant. That said, this is what I am doing. If you are a Trump voter at this point, and wish to maintain ties to me, well, we will have to look each other in the face and really talk about what this man’s legacy has done to me and mine in the past eight years, and you will have to make a choice.

May all the fucking guns in the world be melted to scrap iron and we actually get past fighting about bullshit and actually start helping each other.

National Coming out day 2024

So, it’s national coming out day today, and conveniently, the this photo showed up in my Facebook memories.

Zoë cooking in her kitchen, 2016

It’s national coming out day. Might as well bask in what to me is the mild cringe of this pre-hormones person as I tell my story.

If you’ve been around me for the long haul, you’ll know that I’ve come out, redefined, and reexplained myself many times over the years.

The exact moment when it was clear that I was something other than a straight boy is probably lost to the sands of time, but I will submit that somehow, the tween in the polaroid thought that was a way to pose to a photo or something:

Zoë in front of her childhood house with her dog Alice, circa 1992

I honestly have a very fuzzy memory of a lot of my life before I got to college, and even a lot before 30 is echoes of memories.

I did come out as bi in my very early 20s, started going to gay bars. I had an intensely bad experience (read about it here: https://zoe-is-wish.com/2023/05/22/the-trans-rubicon/ , but I’m not writing a trigger warning post here), which kind of put me off of dating men for the most part. Still kind of wore that part of my identity on my sleeve for most of my 20s, to the annoyance of many people around me. For a lot of this time, it felt safer. It was a way to set myself apart, and it was also a way to safely explore who I was. It also let me kind of realize that I did not engage with relationships, dating, or life the way that cis-het men did (and loudly talking about mlm attraction certainly scared off the worse of those men). From the experience above, and just in general, I pretty quickly realized that I did not especially fit in with the gay male world, either, but I just kind of chalked that up to there being so few bi men in my world, and being in the middle just made me different than everyone.

But whose approval was I REALLY in need of? bi women, it turns out, and certainly that identity helped with that. Over this time period, I slipped into pretty bad alcoholism, nearly constantly danced with various self harm instincts, and desperately sought out any sort of approval tokens I could find. Over this time period, gender stuff kind of came to the fore, very very slowly. I didn’t know what a trans person was, and everything I did know came from intensely transphobic sources like TERF feminism (I read a lot of stuff while in recovery), and the super toxic media portrayals from the 90s like Jerry Springer, Ace Ventura, and the Crying Game. I certainly couldn’t see myself in any of those portrayals. So, I’d say I was “mildly trans”. By the time I was 29 or so, I was willing to call myself genderqueer, and later “nonbinary”. Here’s the oldest photo I can find of myself in “not-boy-mode”:

Zoë at her then-girlfriend’s house, 2009

As my thirties progressed, the exploration continued. I did out myself to my parents as bi and nonbinary in this period, to kind of disastrous effect, in a way that kind of forced me back into the egg harder. Relationships were fraught during this period, as I did not know how to set boundaries for myself, and there was a lot of chaos as I figured it out. I did start dating my wife during this period, and being nonbinary went from a sort of private thing to a very out there and aggressive part of my identity.

As the 20s became my 30s, the alcoholism did not subside, though, and it started to catch up to me, after numerous cutback attempts failed. There came a point where it became clear that I could either continue to drink or I could have a life. I chose the latter, and quit cold turkey in 2016. I was happier, I was more able to be aware of myself…. and I suddenly found myself much much more dysphoric. By this time I had several real actual trans people in my life for quite a while. I still kind of refused to see myself in them, but the clarity of sobriety, combined with just… time made all of it catch up to me.

By the time the pandemic isolation hit, three things happened. The first was external. My bestie made some knitted falsies for me, and playing around with corsets and falsies in my house gave me the most intense sense of dissociation I’ve ever felt. The idea of looking like that in the mirror and having dead not-me flesh there made my body revolt.

The second thing that happened was I just started self-reflecting. I started reading about hormones. I started looking at before and after transition photos. And I asked myself: do I want to die in a boy’s body? And I could feel the intense revulsion in me bubble up.

The third thing that happened was that the pandemic isolation sent me to discord, and to trans discords in particular. I saw how much the above story was… almost common. The inaccessibly different from me trans women I longed to be started to just look… like me. I went to folxhealth.com (for the record, I know now that there are MUCH cheaper, albiet less convenient ways to start HRT), I set up an appointment, and here I am on day 1 of HRT

Zoë’s first day on HRT, June 2021

I posted the above to our local texas burn community’s nonbinary page, and say “hey, I’m doing this.” And I let time pass. And the transition feelings hit, the dysphoria brainfog lifted, and I became myself. By the time I left texas, I had loudly told most of the world that I was a she/her woman, mostly a lesbian. I had my face with my real name under it published in the Austin-American Statesman, and I had been quoted in the Texas Tribune

I came out to my birth family, and THAT went catastrophically. I had to flee Texas.

But I’m here, I’m alive, and I’m happier than I’ve ever ben, because even with everything else that has happened,

Zoë as of time of writing, the 11th of October 2024

well, at least I don’t see that ghost in the mirror when I look at her anymore. Happy national coming out day.

Critical Northwest, 2024

So, my wife and I took a trip out to Critical Northwest for our 13th anniversary this year. We have been many years deep, both in attendance and in year-round volunteering (to various extents) at the various central texas burns, and really had built up a lot of burnout/cynicism/exhaustion/whatever about the whole endeavour. We bring it out, we hang out for a few days, we tear it down, we repeat. We lock into endless fights about how the thing is done, nothing ever changes. You do surveys of volunteerism and identifying the volunteering-related sustainability problems with the event, and rather than initiate a real discussion about hero volunteering and too-large lead positions, it devolves into yet more shaming about shift volunteers, using the one super-clear metric you generated.

And beyond that, just all of the time that me just being me was a novel thing that had to be explained, defended and justified. It was actually during a flipside one year, after getting misgendered one time too many, that in a huff, I was finally like “if people won’t take this enby compromise I’m offering, I’m just going to demand to be called what I am” and switched to a she/her woman in a huff. (Narrator voice: “she should have just always asked for what she really wanted”)

So, kind of with this in mind, we very reluctantly let ourselves get talked into heading out to Critical Northwest, Seattle’s regional. And, truth be told, it was absolutely re-invigorating in a variety of ways. First, I had absolutely forgotten the feeling of camping with a small, closely knit theme camp committed to bringing it. We had daily camp meals, I got to be a little espresso bar wench for everyone in the morning, and we had a comfortable lounge and a propane fire to hearth around at night. It also didn’t hurt at all that our camp, The Well, was filled with academics and academic apostates, because our camp had a daily lecture series, which brought me to:

I got my old textbooks out and I put together an honest to fuck popular level physics talk on the Higgs mechanism and the Higgs boson. We papered over a lot, and only got through like 80% of what I prepared, but I was able to go forward, give the discussion, explain the content somewhat coherently, and I was able to do it as both myself and having let go of so much of the anger and rage I had built up about what happened to me in academia. I could feel joy discussing these topics that were once my whole life without prejudice or rage, and having it simply feel good afterward. I got positive feedback, and somehow, SOMEHOW, I managed to discuss theoretical physics with a bunch of hippies in the woods without one single person cornering me for a five hour conversation about how they had their own personal theory of everything, and if someone who *just knew* math could go and help them, then they’d have a certain nobel prize.

Second, the culture of the place was just palpably different in a very interesting way. We wished to experience the place for a try before jumping into volunteering after our previous experience, so this is partially from that perspective than anything “backstage”, but everything there just seemed so much more focused on communal experience and expression than on individual expression. Loud trolling was virtually absent. I even had to be careful at playing my hyperbolic characters, because it freaked people out. For her birthday, one of our campmates held an event called “Shady bitches” where you threw out shade from the shade at random passers-by, but it was largely more “yellling compliments at people and/or demanding that they dance for you”, rather than the “insults with love” that I would have been used to from similar events. There was a 2 am sound curfew. Greywater rules were not only enforced, but the org provided centralized greywater receptacles. There was straight up a social norm against sound wars, against leaving music on in camp and leaving camp. It was, to use a term we used the shit out of in camp, just such a different vibe.

Third, in retrospect, kind of obviously, trans people were just everywhere. Not only was I not anyone’s first trans woman, a middle aged trans woman walking around the event was just wholly unremarkable. I didn’t have to have my guard up about my gender, I didn’t have to be careful about how much of my body I showed, I didn’t have to really be conscious of any of it. About half of the way through the event, i very much realized that I had a giant chip on my shoulder about my transness that didn’t especially serve me out there. No one even really cared or noticed me, at least for my transness in and of itself.

Fourth, and relatedly, my wife and I processed a lot about letting go, about understanding, about holding on to anger, all of it. Long talks, deep into the night. I destroyed my deadnamed doctoral diploma. We talked about the flight from Texas, we talked about our parents, we talked about our grandparents, we talked about the fabric of humanity that ties all of us together. I think I did let something go.

Because, Fifth, I performed silks on a stage again, for the first time since Flipside 2023. I choreographed my routine to Pink Pony Club by Chapell Roan, and oh, there was hurt and anger in my as I rehearsed. But then, I got up and did the thing, on the Saturday of the event, and the rage wasn’t in my body. It was joy. I got to be me, I got to live in my body, and even if things turned out the way they did with my parents, and there is never any improvement, I knew where I belonged. And it felt fucking great. And like, that got communicated to the people who watched it, I heard. And like, I was in a showcase with actual professional aerialists and didn’t look 100% incompetent.

So, with all of that, and also with the fact that I have mailed off the form to change my name and gender marker on my birth certificate the Monday before the event, I’ve put some thought into stuff, and have decided to retire the name “Dahling Sweetiepoo.” It started out as my burn name when I picked up my first ranger shift, way, way way back in the day. it was a play on a pet name a then partner had given me, turned around to be made flirty, and oh, was I flirty as Dahling. That was all tied up with the desperation for approval, particularly from queer women, that I had before I came to who I was, of course. But also, that identity did let me exist as something other than a boy. It was a crutch of an identity, but one that kept me safe and strong and alive and evolving, nonetheless. And at the beginning, I did grow. By the end, though, that identity was holding me back. Sexuality became a good for it’s own sake, not an approval token. I connected with my body, and didn’t need a lot of that. Actual sex, of course, became a lot better, but it was a thing I craved less, and was on my mind less. By the time I showed up at Critical, and people were introducing me as “Dahling”, it felt really wrong.

And so, we can see the domain name change above. My current burn name is now “Wish” (why yes, that is not a radio-legal ranger name, how interesting of you to note). I expect that I will see far less need for my burn identity to be my primary identity in the future, but I will answer to either Zoë or Wish if you see me in person. As for how I chose it, it’s tied to the points above. It’s time for me to let go of my anger and start getting back in the fucking game again. The new name is a word that is both a verb and a noun, and more than anything, it’s a reminder that the future can, in fact, be different from the past, which I think ties back to the choice to dare to transition at all. There is no guarantee that it all will work out, and there is no promise that we can fix it all, but if we don’t have that drive to at least give a fuck and try, then by fuck, none of it will ever get better at all.

So, I choose to fight, and if you see me out at a camping event, i choose to be known as Wish. Happy burn, and I love you, anyone who dared to read my ramblings this deeply down the page.

Let’s talk about Trump and political violence

So, last weekend happened.

Let’s talk about last weekend, then. Before we start (and I’ll remind you, reader, again, before we end) I will state that I am a pretty extreme pacifist. I think that violence and intimidation against people is virtually never justified, and the cases where it is involve clear cases of self defense. I believe that once one starts thinking of guns, it turns everything into a nail, and all you think about is guns. I’ve seen it happen to too many people to ignore it. I also acknowledge that this is my decision and philosophical position with my life and my risk profile and my set of experiences. I ask no one to defend me, and take my safety as my own responsibility. Also, as a transgender woman, I am vividly aware of what the threat against me is, so I will brook no condescension there.

Similarly, let’s talk about **why** political violence is especially bad. The real core reason why is, of course, the line between “picking off your political enemies” and “starting a civil war” is very, very thin. It takes the metaphorical sense of politics as warfare, and makes it quite literal. Again, your mindset becomes one of protecting your leader, and attacking your opponents leader. You devolve into teams, and conflict becomes total.

Ok, so that said, let’s talk about what happened last weekend. We don’t know a lot about motive or identity, but I would encourage you to read about the shooter, Matthew Crooks in the CBS article, or your favorite news link. Ultimately, what happened was “A registered republican took a firearm to a republican event where republicans insist that everyone be able to carry guns, and a gun did what guns are designed to do”. This is against the backdrop of past events, when Democratic congresspeople such as Gabrielle Giffords were shot, to have the attack blamed on them with verbiage about how vulnerable people are in “Gun-free zones”. Ultimately, as of this writing, we do not know anything about Crooks’ true motive in being there or in shooting Donald Trump, but we do know that Donald Trump has, in the past, been more than happy to have armed supporters at his rallies.

Kind of on this note, we cannot forget that Donald Trump, himself, is a political animal founded and perpetuated on the idea of political violence. For a stark example, I will remind you of the circusmstances around the taking of this photo:

I will remind you of the numerous times that this man has cheered on the assaults of protestors at his rallies, of the times he has offered to pay the legal bills of people carrying out violence in his name, of the promise to pardon the Jan 6 rioters, of him sitting there and inciting the Jan 6 rioters, of his perpetuation of the child abuse libel against trans people, of his violent rhetoric against immigrants, of his actual harsh actions against immigrants, of his entreaty to the proud boys to stand back and stand by, of his lukewarm, at best, condemnation of Jamestown, of his literal everything.

Because, ultimately, there is no ideology to Donald Trump. In many ways, his actual policies have subverted traditional Republican values, particularly on trade. The thing that Donald Trump represents, at his basic core, is “identifying the people out there that his supporters don’t like, and finding ways to take them down a notch.” That’s it. That’s the core of him. So of course, he dances with political violence, constantly.

So, as a transgender woman (and I bring this up only to say that it is personal, the threat to immigrants and people who might be perceived as such is even more dire) sitting here while this man runs for president for a party whose leaders have declared “the eradication of transgenderism” as a core goal, who speaks of eliminating people like they were “vermin”, I have a gigantic problem with blanket, unqualified condemnations of political violence that do not involve at least some qualification of what Donald Trump is, and the violence that dances around him and around gun culture in general. Because this man has not experienced the life of “discussing with friends and family about what the conditions would have to be like to detect your own roundup in a mass committing of people or a mass deportation of people, or any long tail of other things.” And that, my friends, is fucking political violence, too.

As a pacifist, and as a political pacifist, one must commit to not just laying down arms but to a world where arms are not seen as an option at all. That means working for a world where threats and oppression are gone and forgotten, and no one feels so desperate as to see violence as their only option. That also means that one treats state violence and stochastic violence as the same category of thing as “a guy with a gun”. Saying “the shooter was reprehensible” without connecting it to the context of “everything that Donald Trump is and stands for is reprehensible as well, because it comes from the same well as this shooter” is not pacifism. It is pro forma uttering of a mantra in the hopes that the problems before it magically disappear. And we are not going to manifest our way out of our current political moment.

The Catholic Church has declared trans people abominations

https://apnews.com/article/vatican-gender-surrogacy-abortion-pope-3f84d8eb97f045b0cfb0ec1efa4e614e

So, the vatican has release a new encyclical today, and there is some attempt at threading some sort of needle, but on balance, the thing is hard to read as anything but a full-throated slam of trans people. Some key quotations from the article above:

I handled my pre-transition body and dysphoria with as much grace and respect and care as could ever be expected of anyone. I did what I needed to exist in the body I was born in. I handled my social transition gradually and with care and grace. It took a very long time, and felt like grasping at objects in the dark.

What did I get for it? I got a bunch of destructive relationships in my 20s. I got a raging alcohol problem. I got a dysfunctional relationship with my birth family, and I got to navigate my every second of every day with this intense, searing, but extremely vague notion that I was ugly, disgusting and without worth, and that it had something to do with “being a man”. You know what could have helped me work through those feelings? A gender therapist, and gender-affirming care. But you have to know enough to ask the questions. And it was all gatekept away then, and to the extent it wasn’t gatekept away, the people I saw in public were very much depicted in ways one couldn’t identify with. At least to my memory, I wasn’t the “stealing my mom’s makeup at 3” type of trans girl. I was just extremely fussy and sensitive.

And now, I sit, at peace with myself, having chosen to change, and with a lot of privilege not affected very very many of my trans siblings, but also with the effects of several decades of testosterone damage on my body, and several decades of psychological trauma.

So anyway, to have a bunch of fucking religious people who claim celibacy and a separation from the physical world turn around and lecture me about how what I am doing for myself is a degradation of human dignity, well, it’s all I can do to just not let out a giant fucking guttural scream at it. Look at how people treat and look at me now versus how they did eight years ago and fucking lecture me on fucking dignity. How dare you talk to me about my life without talking to a single person that is at all fucking like me? Or with a medical professional who deals with people like me? What do you fucking know about any of this shit? Especially as you still sit there in your golden palaces in your dedicated nation-state, still dodging accountability for mass child abuse?

Pope Honey Badger my ass.

Written for TDOV 2024

Each day, that I put the rainbow on
And walk out in the street
you see me, that unabashed tranny
that freak, that weirdo, that thing
And you dare to speak

know that, each day that I’m out there,
wearing the rainbow, wearing those heels
standing with my head held high
I am reminded
That my transition is paid for by my dead sisters

And what that means to me
is that I don’t have the luxury of dulling my shine
Of letting myself break my shimmer
Because I owe it to them, to me
To live my life how I will

So, when you hear one of us say
“Radiate trans joy”
know that we know that this joy
comes with memory, with sadness, with rage
And that we choose to thrive anyway.

Thus, asshole: Laugh if you dare
scream if you must
but I am here, and will not go away
until the only dead sisters are those
who die the same way everyone else does.

X-posted from the great blue satan

Ok, so adam schiff giving money to Republicans is toxic and fuck him fuck him fuck him. (EDIT: I misunderstood a source here. he sent out mailers that identified who the MAGA candidate was so that he could contrast himself. This had the effect of helping to consolidate the Republican vote. Obnoxious, but not the same as funding Republicans. Penance served </edit>)

But that said, Lee and Porter did not total to enough votes to hit second place between them.

There are not enough progressive voters out there. The movement needs to grow, support needs to grow. You don’t win things in politics by being given them, you win them by taking them. If the progressive wing does not have the power to just take things, then of course dem leadership wont care what they think. And if they can’t do this in california, they cant do it.

This is also why the debate between “local organizing” and “voting” is a red herring. The local organizing creates a movement that can deliver votes. Once those votes are large enough in number that they make the leadership scared, or better yet, are enough to just take leadership, is when you win. Like, thats how labor got all the shit it wanted the first go around.

Organize harder, come back, beat the assholes. Ill use my vote to mitigate the worst outcomes in the meantime, but any november decision i make is a small, small part of my political activity. And we’d all be better off holding each others hands and facing the hard shit together than we will screaming about that.

Trans rights
Bodily autonomy
Human rights
End genocide in palestine and everywhere
Dismantle the military industrial complex
Close the jails
Abolish the police

And, as an addendum:

I’ll also add, tone-wise, that while it looks like I’m kind of speaking to progressives more than moderates here, that’s because I believe the audience that is willing to read a multiparagraph ramble from me is far more progressive than moderate.

takeaway from this should definitely be:

this is why its toxic to say ‘the way to fix this is by voting in November’, with an implied ‘shut up about this now’ embedded in there. Voting is one part of a wide array of political activity, and the organizing you do before the election, and, in the form of speaking up and political pressure, between elections, will do as much as the vote itself.

Estranged. 22 Feb 2024

Estranged.

it’s such a funny word to me

To be rendered strange

unusual, different, lost

as if normalcy was ever an option

much less an option back then

—————–

This estrangement, though

doesn’t feel like I’ve been made other

it is just a loss, or a wound

and rather than disembodied and distant

my feelings are sadness and confusion

and above all, a rage

fueled by a not burning

but still red-hot coal

buried in my insides