i saw him once in a dream-
i cant tell you how he looked,
but he told me
"you aren't real-
you yearn for connection,
and yet cry at the blood on your hands.
you read of hyacinthus
and yet,
you keep a garden of flowers"
i cried in his arms and he did not hold me
for crying is for the weak and
weakness is for people better than i
i replied that i needed not blood
nor companionship
to keep me from my mind
he laughed in my face
and he took my bloodied hands in his,
and we danced,
but it hurt,
and i stepped on thorns,
and he said i wasn't real enough to feel true pain
and so,
i pretended to not feel.
YOU ARE READING
an idiots guide to life; how to survive the badlands of wyoming
Poetrythe slightly deranged ramblings of a teenage trans guy living in wyoming there's no overarching theme but there sure is a lot of dogs, horses, and god(s) . i do not know what i am talking about 97% of the time mostly posted chronologically in order...
