Today, I am wearing cut-off jeans,

frayed at the ends,

and threaded holes in three places,

a blue short-sleeved shirt and yeah,

white socks. It's my laid-back,

don't-give-a-damn-what-you-think-of-me-look.

Today, I have had my daily dose of coffee;

six cups.

Next comes the Pepsi.

Perhaps I am over-wired for sound,

who knows?

Today, looking out my window,

it looks like any other day.

Cars going by,

joggers, jogging.

No big deal.

I have work to do.

Today, like all days,

I think, I write,

I write,

then think even more.

Today,

lunch will have come and gone,

then back to the task at hand.

Today,

like on other days,

I think back

when love was in full gear,

as it raced through my life.

Today,

like yesterday

and all the today's before,

I imagine the idea of loving again,

but not saddened by that empty thought.

To love deeply,

without hesitation or reservation

is a blessing in one's lifetime.

Today,

I relinquish nothing,

save all and move forward.

Today,

there are lives to save,

lives to end,

as another story unfolds.

This mind is a harbor of mass events.

Today,

I think back on a wise woman,

how she taught me understanding,

and I still feel blessed by her comfort.

Today,

me thinks a walk is due.

A trip around the lake,

for no other reason than I can.

Today,

my day started by waking up,

and that is always a good sign.

Today,

thinking about tomorrow,

and what will or won't change.

That's the beauty of it.

Tomorrow;

today will be another memory.

**************************

This is a phrase I coined back in the early 90's.

"Another day down. I worked for it. I earned it, and no one can take it away from me. Ever."

Today I am wearing

A tired scowl on my face

And a battered heart on my sleeve.

One long day

In a storm of willful ignorance

And here I am.

Two hours of explaining myself

To people who don't listen

To inconvenient truths.

Three comments

Of tone policing

And false progression.

Four years of fighting

For autonomy from a

Controlling mother - dead or alive.

Five years agonizing

Over a scumbag

From my past's release.

Six years of abuse

Thrown in my face

By a false movement.

Seven other victims around me

Feeling the same...but knowing

There are countless more of us.

Eight paragraphs about the issue;

Questionable (at best) "reasons"

Behind excusing this "movement".

Nine times I have to hear

About the immorality of the LGBT

And non-members' assumptions.

Ten years of gaslighting;

Sweeping my attempts at healing

Under the rug for convenience.

Eleven times to ask for help,

Only to be barred

From facing my demons head-on.

Twelve years old, being slut shamed

For my figure; slut shaming myself

Because that's what he made me feel like.

Thirteen years he'll be in jail -

A lifetime that I'll deal

With his actions.

Thirteen reasons why

I am disgusted by the idea

Of "MAPs" normalizing their shit desires.

Today I am wearing

My dirty paint pants

Their story not told

Worn clean one day

Tear drops stain first

Then booze and smoke

Spray can thrown burst

Sharp wire torn hem

Holes tell of wear

Glue oil spray glaze

All hues blotch daze

Paw print hand smear

Fire stoke too near

Sparks char synth cloth

Blues pinks golds shine

Greys and lust hide

Reds burn heart sign

My fav pants friend

I wear them proud

In view of crowd

Odd stair glance yawn

They dance with pain

From tear to gone

Now I perch sit

Paint drips from brush

Why you would ask

One three whys too:

Greens teals peach stains

Dark light bright nights

Splats swipes drips globs

Dreams that’s one three

Still brush drips paint

One three whys gave

But paused to say

What I wear today

Today I am wearing

My battle scars

Accumulated over years

Spent behind imaginary bars

ONE. Society and me don’t fit

Like a child trying to stuff

A triangle into a square

Eventually giving up and finding it too tough

TWO. My angles are too angular

Not enough fat on my bones

But, fat is also a bad thing

For it’ll weigh me down like stones

THREE. I run too fast

Too quick to judge

But, I should have seen it coming

If my brain wasn’t sludge

FOUR. I box myself in

Don’t come out of my room

But, if I talk too much

I’ll just be another one they consume

FIVE. My imagination bursts too dramatically

Out of my seams

But, my words are too bland

Not enough to carry my dreams

SIX. My curiosity, like the cat

Will eventually get me killed

But, I’m simply too simple

And will never be skilled

SEVEN. I’m smart for my age

Might even get a scholarship or two

But, what’s the point in studying

If I don’t share the same point of view

EIGHT. I feel too many emotions

Opening up to anyone willing to listen

But, my muscles don’t work hard enough

Sweat the only thing that will glisten

NINE. My tears stream too freely

Fragile enough to be swept up in the wind

But, my blood flows too viscous

In urgent need to be thinned

TEN. I can’t seem to sit still enough

Can’t resist the urge to fidget

But, I’ll never be able to raise my voice

I’m just another midget

ELEVEN. I talk a little too quickly

A disoriented mumbling mess

But, when my words do make sense

They often don’t impress

TWELVE. I don’t make friends quickly

I haven’t learned to trust

But, when I can finally accept another

They find a way to leave behind only their dust

THIRTEEN. I’ve realized that I’ve had enough

I can’t live in this world of contradictions

That’s why I given up

Not bound by any restrictions