I’m stuck.
In a whole of my own despair
Punk? I don’t care what you think
I’m past caring and not into hating you
I’m going to have another drink
Or three
I’ll tell you a tale
Ha! I’m the fucking cross that takes all the nails
Of the fucking woe that befalls my fellow trans
Excuse me? You know you’re phobic
Those people
You know who they are
The blood on their hands
What a work is a rotting man?
More that you’ve ever imagined that they can have
More every day
Instead of protecting us? They tell us which loo to piss in
Makes a good joke on the tv you know. Do they know how much it hurts?
Take away our very existence
Apparently telling our parents about ourselves is paramount, but what if we never have a home after?
We have to hide ourselves till we finally feel safe
If it’s not our parents, it’s everyone else
Safe? It’s new we were we are, concerned?
They tore at my flesh with bare hands
I’m was so scared of the after
“Burn gay fag, burn” they said.
Hide, hide, behind all the closed doors
Give in and your dead
Hide, hide, love is the beast in the Pandora’s box
Hope doesn’t even exist anymore
Trees, my savior, my home, books my sanctuary, little bits of information my requiem
Hiding like a koala does, or a mole
Trying out little secrets, covering the secrets in spells, covered by rituals, covered by spire of spite, and never come to use it to fight
It’s a little more like the little bit of light
The library, holding deep secrets, hide yours in it, keeps them safely hidden
Like your fate.
I ask you little one
Where is the transgender mafia?
If they existed
If they were real
I wouldn’t have to deal with the other ones
Them.
Requiem, the company of our souls, for even they are cursed by these people
The Enigma Garden 