Ramblings of a Transgirl

Wires and tightropes and catches oh my,
my heart can't withstand the pain;
Wires and tightropes and things I despise,
my mind can't withstand the rain.

Of intrusive thoughts, of intrusive acts
my mind will always toward-slip.
And yet, even still, I'm here and around
and never my life I will quit.

Of dangers and horror I know far too much
to cross the waters of Styx
I've too much left, too far to swim,
to let death finally stick.

How do I even explain the horror?
How do I explain the fear?
How do I laugh in despair and communicate
how I really feel?

From bouts so dark I knew not depths
to poor, abandoned child,
you did much damage to yourself
your anger became wild

Rages and storms and calms and lulls
made relapse all the worse,
a word unsaid, and glance not met
would send you to your worst.

It would matter why, because
It wouldn't matter at all.
It wouldn't matter in the end;
we'd have to forget it all.

And from those shattered memories
a hist'ry I must patch
Uncertain broken memories
with huge and unknown gaps.

Across those gashes, whimpering,
my tiny voice must fly
without knowing, without guessing,
which one will make me die.

I cannot know the bottom, deep,
the hurt you set my mind,
I only know approaching it
is filled with hate and knives.

How do I now explain the fear?
How do I cover terror?
Of parent, caretaker whispering
those words of utter horror.

For "once I get my hands on you"
and "if mom wasn't here"
your punishment would be five times,
or ten times more severe.

With threats you kept us tightly bound,
with violence more still,
us striving to heal our own hearts
and at times yours as willed.

But we could not fill in that hole.
We could not bridge that gap.
We were to busy suffering
to even manage laughs.

From all the mem'ries good and bad
it's wonder we survived;
I cannot say how long I'll live
self-hate drives me to die.

With frantic heartbeats, wracking coughs,
tremors were then revealed
tremors that scared me even more
than specialists in fields.

Though could not find the root cause then,
they could not understand,
their tests and then their bruises...
revealed death's long hand.

For which child when you are 13, remembers
things so bleak
their parents seeming all at fault
No cause because they're weak.

No cause because they couldn't see,
No cause 'cause they refused
a doctor to take them from me
and raise me less abused.

Death and I are companions
rowing e're forward with sticks 
Death and I are companions
from the my smile to his shining white lips.

From my legs, chilled to bone,
soaked in cavernous lake,
to my arms that are weary and sore,
we row opposite ways
in a myriad of plays
and neither can reach the shore.

No we circle around the tidal embrace,
the whirlpool with suction so real,
the break in the world,
the break I've become,
refuses to go and reseal.

For though I love death,
and I really do
I have not come this far
My goal within reach,
the edge of the Styx
and from here I ever go on.

Padding about inside their locks
their eyes seem awfully strange,
alien faces with alien eyes
and no-one knows their names.

Some of their heritages goes so far back.
Did they fight? Did they plow? Did they flee?
One never knows in those alien eyes
we know not how to see.

Madness is wonderful
and madness is kind;
Madness is terrible,
and madness is mine.

Hubris or madness or lunatic high
I have to stretch my wings;
Madness will tell me that I can fly
and that I'll be caught by these things.

Madness is beautiful;
it rents the sky
with the power of the magic I wield.
I step through a gate, not
knowing my fate
and in this, my madness I wield.

Anxiety and terror and horror and blight,
I feel all these things,
Not knowing your future,
Not knowing your past,
or hearing the songbirds sing.

I cannot explain how scared I am;
I cannot explain it at all;
To explain what I need
would require a bleed,
and a loss of hope for all.

If I enter hope and I am alive
these things I've lived shall write
to help those who aren't,
to help those who can't,
I'll shine Demosthenes' light.

My rage is now unbounded.
My fists are made of stone.
The crushing weight of terror
is destroying your home.

For in the dark and lightning
and in the whipping rain,
I cannot help be terror,
for terror is my name.

I cannot speak for windlass
I cannot speak for rope
I only see the storm's dark clouds
and future shorn of hope.

Overhead it holds away the sky we hold so dear,
the place where dreams are realized,
the place that is so near,
the place that soars within our hearts,
the place that pains and cries,
sits ever 'neath these walls we built,
'til we begin to die.

And when we cry,
and when we weep,
the truth is then revealed.
We built these walls, protect ourselves,
and cannot now be healed.

CW for extreme suicidal imagery.

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Circuit boards and terror and blackness and wire
my mind's like diffusing a bomb.
One never knows if I'm going to live
or which of my wires is wrong.

One never knows when my heartstrings are cut
until I at last explode.
One never knows if you and I are safe
until I blow my load.

One never knows if anger will rise
until rage takes its place.
One never knows if I'll kill myself
with pencils sticking from face.

I can't tell who even I am
or who I'll be once defused.
I do not know who even I am
I'm terror, and oh-so-confused

This moment is precious.
This moment is peace.
This moment is hope, and kindness, and light.

This moment is sadness.
This moment is despair and darkness, yet  life.

This moment is kindness.
This moment is the march of love amongst the stars themselves.

This moment is you.
This moment is now.