When we first heard opioid stories,
They were always in whispered tones
Now banners of sorrow mark the front steps of childhood homes;
Parents wept through daddy's girl eulogies
And merit badge milestones with their daughters and sons:
Laying there lifeless in their suits and gowns
I go back to the old street
I donât need any directions
I could find my way there in the dark
I know all the intersections
Itâs not the same as I left it
And shall never be once more
There are overgrown bushes and
New buildings galore
They tore down my house with bulldozers
I wonder if they knew
A little girl grew up there
And that little girl died, too
âNow I have to remember you for longer than I knew youâ
âhow do you process grief?â âby running from it until it finds me in the middle of a sunny street on a beautiful day.â
two headed calf poem
âi was a child my spine wasnât developed enough to be your pillarâ
âAs a woman I have so much empathy for my mother, but as a daughter, I have so much anger..â
as i come closer and closer to accepting my identity and taking steps to actually transition i mourn the people i grew up with who i called by different names than they go by now, who grew out their natural hair color or chose one socially acceptable, who used different pronouns and dreamt of life as a boy- who now canât wait to be a wife⌠im the only one left it feels. something must have shifted between 2017 to now, and the losses i can count on my fingers. theyâre all buried and i donât think any of them are coming back. do you remember middle school- where it was harder to find someone who Wasnât queer and it seemed like everyone was more themselves? i cant bury this and i wont, but it makes me sad to think about the ones who are still sleeping.
this is worthy of celebration:Â the lack of videoâautoplay video, noisy inane video, panicky video, algorithmic, dumb video, rabbit hole video, any videoâon pi.fyi is a good thing