that was exactly the point.
You keep searching for the new thing
that lives you, isn’t it?
To myself, I pioneer.
Do you know what a terror it is
to always be the bridge tester
the poison taster?
I cannot be a queer canary in a mine
telling you what your activism should look like
for the sad ones.
I will not die for you, not like they did.
Before I am theirs
before I am queer
I am a surviving lesson
mirroring my own world of little traumas.
I am J. And I have memories that crack my skin
and sleep in my ear canal.
Memories that pulse in my eyeballs.
I cannot be. I cannot be the only one of us that rattles at night!
Of course they do. I whisper into my chest.
Of course they hum in their beds till finally their minds still.
Of course I am not the only one that sings out over
the louder thoughts.
How do I say that
sometimes I feel like I still look through the breathed on glass of my car out into the familiar gray morning light, just to see my life now?
I am not visited by the past, I run from it like a kid runs away from home.
They’ll always come back.
That’s where the life is kept.