Eulogy of the Forgotten

Not everyone understands

What it's like to be…

How to put it…


And I'm not talking about

That circle peg square hole bullshit

I'm talking about

The open chest cavity feeling

When you look in a mirror

And not recognizing

The face that stares back at you.

The feeling when you hear a name

That isn't truly yours

But every time you are expected

To answer to it.

No questions asked.

The blade in brain agony

Of walking down a street,

Down a hallway,

Across a room in my own fucking house

Just to hear

That I'm just another "special snowflake"

That its just a stage.

News flash my life isn't a video game

This isn't a stage that you play through

To get to the next level

This blade isn't a pixelated fraud

That opens the animated arm

And spills out good graphics.

My life is waking up every day

Putting on a plastic smile

And walking through this hell of a life

Until I can get to safety

Behind the closed door

Of my bedroom.

Where I can pull out my laptop

And look at the pictures

Where I've photo-shopped

My face onto another guy's body.

Closing the screen to go,

Retrieving an old ace bandage

From underneath my mattress

To force this unwanted tissue

Inward Potentially crushing my ribs,

But I don't care.

All I can think about Is how my frame is too curved,

A spiteful voice in my mind

Continuously repeating

She she she she


Enough of the names,

Enough of the pronouns,

Enough hiding in a lonely closet

Where there was only ever room for one

That when which we break free

We are bombarded with fingers pointed

To state incompetence,

Unwillingness to even

Feign acceptance,

Causing those like me,

To unwillingly create the idea, that the afterlife

Is more like an after-party.

A place where there is no more pretending

No more continuous lies

A place where we have the ability

To escape the very society

That mourns our deaths

With a hashtag

That appears

On your twitter feed

To remind you for a week or two

Before some celebrity break-up

Causes you to forget

The real broken ones.

This poem is about: 
My community
Our world
Guide that inspired this poem: 


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