THE CLOSET MYSTIC

this world has told me so many times: “follow your gut. follow your gut.”

well, guess what i found out?

my gut’s full of shit.

Secrets of my being, secrets I’ve kept from myself.

Truths too painful to look at, covered in dust, buried without my consent, memories of me, buried from me, buried by me.

I’m cloaked in midnight. I extracted literal, concentrated midnight, fashioned it into fabric, and cloaked myself in it. And what of my desire to be seen? How, pray tell, am I to be known like this? 

These competing desires to be known or to fade into obscurity. These competing desires to hide or to shine. These competing desires to love or to run. 

For all of life, something must die. All life that you see is built on death. The whole of creation, the flow of life force itself through all of creation is the ouroboros. You are the snake that eats creation’s tail. You are the tail being eaten by creation’s serpentine mouth. All that sustains you died as it became you. As you die, so too will you sustain another life.

Take me to a cemetery so I can meditate on the secrets of creation. Take me to a graveyard that I might be confronted with truth. 

Here’s the cruel reality of all that is, ever has been, or perhaps ever will be: all this suffering and all this chaos is a part of the jungle. Life itself. There are predators amongst humanity like there are predators in the animal kingdom. Just as a predator will kill and eat upon the flesh of another to sustain itself, so, too, are there predators amongst humanity who will, without remorse, exploit others to sustain themself.

Oh, and of this cruel, cold fact — would you like to know what makes it even more cruel, even more cold?

It isn’t the fact that, unlike the predators of the animal kingdom who will kill the prey they sustain themself upon — a mercy to be sure — humanity’s predators instead keep their prey alive while they feed. Yes, they vampirically suckle upon their blood, but they will leave just enough so their prey can stay alive and of value.

No, it isn’t that fact. It is the fact that, unlike the jaguar or puma or lion, who will stop killing after it’s had its fill, who will stop killing after its eaten and stuffed its stomach, there are humans who have bottomless pits for bellies. Forget the fact that they ignore all other ways to sustain themself without preying on their fellow humans; no, they will not just choose to be a predator where they did not have to, but they will also continue to prey on others far, far, far, far, far, far, far beyond what was ever needed to sustain themself.

We call this greed.

Is it wrong that I have such a fascination with your edges? That I wouldn’t mind if they were to leave red tally marks all over my body, one for each time I fell for you?

Is it wrong that I miss the sting?

Is it wrong that I miss the release? Is it wrong that my body longed for the pain, is it wrong that my spirit was already self-flagellating? I made what was inside outside; I wore the scars proudly to honor the pain inside me, I was done looking like I wasn’t in pain. I was done with the bleeding, the bleeding, the bleeding, the bleeding that was visible only to my own eyes. 

It was like I just… at last… wanted to dive into my own suffering. I don’t want to hold it together, how long I’ve held it together. How long I’ve held it together, I don’t want to be held together. I want to be held, not to hold myself together, I want loving arms surrounding me, not barbed wires of repression and repression and repression and self-deception.

No, I ripped the barbed wire off and it left gashes bleeding all over my forearms, my thighs. That burn meant freedom.

I hope you can understand as fucked up as it sounds. 

I’d sooner die

for revolution

Than live

under oppression.

My heart bleeds,

eyes weep.

flood the streets–

awake, awake,

open your eyes,

see.

silence

is closing the cell

tossing the key.

open your eyes,

see–

open your mouth,

speak–

land of the free?

what a mockery.

corral the sheep:

ICE, armed to the teeth.

the time is now:

who will you be?

today, them:

tomorrow, you and me.

losing weight

never touched that heaviness 

in my bones.

i wanted to be the apple of your eye

but i wouldn’t eat it myself.

…

too much sugar.

they call it fasting,

it’s totally healthy.

never had to try cocaine

they prescribed it to me.

it’s not my fault

it took my ADHD

and my appetite

pursed lips 

food out

suffering in 

don’t eat. Don’t talk. Don’t eat. Don’t talk. Won’t talk about it. Won’t eat. Nothing comes in. Nothing sure as hell comes out.

your eyes had this funny ability to make me feel more naked than anyone’s hands ever could

so many people who’ve seen all of me but haven’t seen me at all.