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Literature Text
I found my prostate in a field
when I was only six years old,
prairie grass and Illinois wheat
bowed down by breath, bound
by the root to a foundation
softened by Illinois clay
and Midwestern winds.
I am a curious boy, fascinated
by feelings; I just wanted to know
what was out there that was for me.
I am a similar creature now
comfortable in a masculinity
stretched over my skin,
fueled by a feminine acuity
for empathy aching in every vein.
Emotional androgyny means
I know what is out there for me
to take before I can give it back.
when I was only six years old,
prairie grass and Illinois wheat
bowed down by breath, bound
by the root to a foundation
softened by Illinois clay
and Midwestern winds.
I am a curious boy, fascinated
by feelings; I just wanted to know
what was out there that was for me.
I am a similar creature now
comfortable in a masculinity
stretched over my skin,
fueled by a feminine acuity
for empathy aching in every vein.
Emotional androgyny means
I know what is out there for me
to take before I can give it back.
Literature
Awake
Awake
We - are the children of Cygnus
Sagittarius , the Pleiades, Orion, and the Dog Star
Sprung from the womb of the Hypernova
Recycled, Reborn, Eternal
Observe
Times arrow returned to its quiver
Unlimited
Alive - in every moment that has been
or will ever be
Free
From the shackles of the linear mind
and the material wastelands of the Fallen
Pity the mortal and the blind
We dine on starlight
and dance to the rhythm of the fractal void
The heavy metal, rock and roll beat of the Magnetar and Star Quakes
The techo-jazz, thump thump thump of the pulsars
The waltz of the binaries
in their elegant embrace
We ride the big surf of the Broa
Literature
consecrate
authenticity an arsenic
in morning coffee, in the smiles
pressed like ironed laundry,
because I feel like one wrong breath,
one wrong kiss between glossed lips and soft jaws
and I will be nailed to a cross
deception a shame rising like steam,
where teeth grind against each other
like clockwork gears, tick tick ticking
while the tongue kisses the roof of its cathedral
like a prayer to gods yet to be named
because her face is a mosaic window
shining the sin out of love
Literature
the ghost
I don't know what I'm waiting for,
because I am a ghost and yet
I sit on my hands and wonder
where you've been -
I walk the forest in circles,
the methodical crunch
of leaves beneath my feet
and I remember
that you made me feel small,
and alone. here I am, facing
this brilliant hue that is me and myself
and I am the ghost but somehow
you are haunting me.
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Written 6/1/2015
Part of the Bitlets project.
Bitlets 326 © 2015 Nic Swaner
Part of the Bitlets project.
Bitlets are about quantity, not quality. Free-write at least one a day about what is on your mind, going on around you, or the state of your life. Ignore the urge to edit; it's not about being profound on purpose, it's about stumbling on it by accident.About this Bitlet
this started out as an experience told tongue-in-cheek about my six-year-old self being a child, but it evolved into something more. I've always known I act and even talk femininely, but to me, I'm a man through and through and I've never doubted that. My way of acting has never been criticized, but people have pointed it out, and when living in the country, it's mostly pointed out to poke fun at stereotypes and gender roles, it's never been hurtful. It's hardly been commented on in cities and suburbs. I may just be lucky to have not been confronted by such people, but it's empowering; I think the reason I haven't been met with such criticism is because I can play both fields, at least emotionally. I've never had trouble connecting with people because of gender, I just am able to empathize regardless, and I've always been proud of this.Browse Bitlets
Bitlets 326 © 2015 Nic Swaner
Comments4
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Such a beautiful poem, brought some memories