hello from the other side

Hello,

 

I’m sorry for the waits, I’ll try not to have an interruption of posts like that again.

 

I’m tired today, that kind of tired where you start to think in song lyrics and inspirational posters. this week will be a wild ride for me, lots of damage control, one or two hard landings for sure. I don’t like time crunches, but the world seems to be so fast paced these days, it’s very depressing sometimes.

 

All the time I rebel, if I didn’t then I’d find my self changed, I’d be a straight A student, I’d be on the church baseball team, I’d never listen to a podcast, I’d never touch anyone else, I’d hate cats and democrats. I’d never have read “bloom county” or walked with “the prince of thorns”.  I wouldn’t write this, I wouldn’t write at all.  I’d be a moral, celibate, straight, cisgender son-of-a-bitch.

Somewhere down my road I took a wrong turn, I found Lethani,  or a piece of something very like it. I started to change, I learned about coexistence, and tolerance. I really began to understand other people, I fell love with fantasies of nice halfay people, each one a little closer to the real world, each old thought gone after the next, first my politics, then my thoughts on sexuality, then my religious dogma, and one day, the cracks joined, and I was flooded by the fact of who I was, of who I am, and of how I would have to act to live free.

I learned to lie and to lie well, I learned to cope with the pain, to find time, and to make time, to smile when I was dead inside. to love and hate still. all this is not who I am.

I am not some rebel, but I am Under rebels, fools who cannot see where to walk. in my dreams I walk under those I will not fear, and with those who do not strike at me for my nature.

This assertiveness is the thing I hate more than all else, I can not live as I am alone, that is not my way, I am not a lord of ANY realm, I am the willing serf of any willing lord or lady that should call, and yet I can find no place in any house, for what house is not watched?

So I sit alone in my room, thinking a phrase over,  considering the names used the tones, trying to know when my time will arrive, never sure; always waiting. wishing for a task. a duty to carry forward, a reason to live.

 

No one seems to see what I need. I ask for a task, and they say there are none for me, forgetting that I asked about them, not me, not something for my use. even those that know what I mean often omit their needs and wants, trained in a courtesy I take as a rebuff.

 

in submission,

 

L.s.

 

 

 

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