My body has grown soft. Soft and brittle, hard to move, easy to bruise. Skin that shifts a little too freely over fat, pulled loose and drooping. My skin didn't toughen with age, but instead grew soft, like the peel on a rotted fruit.
Quarantine, mi quarantena, my "forty days" as I begin the next forty years, a day for a year, a story for a stain, a shoe for no one
Forgotten, dismissed, discarded, boxed, and buried. There are so many things I need to let go of...
My Ritalin is making me tired.
Being queer is a (cough) rainbow of emotions, that's for sure. Our community makes me feel unity and togetherness and joy and hope, and it's okay that I also feel disconnected and regretful and frustrated and tired and on and on, because family is a complex thing and — sing it with me — we