i'm not exactly cross-dressing.

I came out to my other Emily. She was the last person I wanted to tell on my own, personally, in private. I feel better.

Also my mom asked me if I could not dress like a boy and I said, "... No?" And she is going to be okay with it I guess. She raised me to be confident, and I am, and I like dude clothes. The conversation was mostly joking, so it was fine. I know she doesn't like the clothes I do, but that doesn't matter to me.

Oh but she sideways told me I couldn't have a relationship with someone anything but cis-gendered male. Because, well, "She's still raising a child." It's not like I could turn him gay. I don't know, maybe that'd just be another bump for her to get over in all of this.

Life is nice and I am pretty happy. And I got a new shirt, it's great.

i apologize.

I still want to be a fix-it, like Dad.
(But I catch misery like the common cold!)

Sometimes my words are clumsy,
they come insensitive
and harsh.

I'm not a fix-it--
I'm just a huge wad.

I can't be like Clare.
They won't want to hear my voice,
they won't call me to tell me their troubles,
they won't miss me when they're upset or lonely.
Because I'm no comfort, everyone knows it.

I sat and watched her cry for ten minutes.

It makes me feel small and sad.
I hate it.
I want to be big enough to make everything okay.

I want to fix you, fix things, make it all alright, but...

All I've got are bandaids and knee-kisses!
No, all I've got are bandaids
and scared lips.
I've got warm arms and warm hands!
But I just hug my legs,
I just gesticulate like a madman,
as I try to motivate you or change your view.
All I've got are bandaids.

Fuck I'm terrible at this.

I'm just sorry, alright?

But I'm trying to be better, bit by bit.
Thanks for being patient.

(We've fought a lot, haven't we?
It always makes my ribs hurt
and my throat tight
and I wait for your words.)

first week.

I met a person, a new person, a nice person, a person who seeks out my company, a person who likes me. I can't spell his name, but he's my friend, my new friend, my nice friend. He has tattoos, just a few. He used the word beautiful. He got beaten up this week by his ex-girlfriend's boyfriend. He takes the bus to school. He loves his siblings a lot, he showed me a picture of his little brother. Also, he talks a lot, but that's alright; I think we all need someone to listen.

I like college.

I want to learn things and meet people and grow into a beautiful deciduous tree, changing with the seasons, twisting branches, hidden bird's nests.

I want to be everyone's friend. I want to get to know everyone. 

good things.

Cheer up, sweetheart, the clouds are back and we'll fall a little more out of love each day.

we're all small.

Self-centered! All our tiny worlds revolve in a decaying orbit around our whims. Eventually these small planets will be shot off into space, into irrelevancy. Petty. Temporary.

You can't see past your eyelids. Yes, certainly your vision is "unique;" you're blind! It's your way of seeing things, and it's left you selfish. Nothing's left but meteor-pocks and ash, as your atmosphere starts to dissipate, and you clutch your throat, seeking air so you can fill your lungs and spout out your vanities once more.

When it comes to people, you are tiny and your understanding is lacking. You've learned all about yourself, but nothing much about the others.

You are small.

some people's kids.

Gender?

And I lose my breath, overexcited,

Wind knocked out of me,

Words shoved out of me.

Unjust!

You with your strong hands

With your excuses, 

You can't control your desire!

It's in your nature!!

They warned me to cover up

They told me not to walk alone

(But they never taught me how to fight.)

They never told you, "Listen!"

NO.

What's wrong with feminism anyway?

Scared of something?

Go home.

i like you people.

I held my knees,
my palms smelled like dandelions,
and a tiny bug crawled across my toes.

alone alike.

He inhales dust, the desert in a breath. We are so similar, both drowning without a drop of water. Miles between. The weight of the world in two halves of a scale, one balanced on each of our backs, a chunk of Earth added to his side, then mine. The songs we sing are soft, whispered through mouthfuls of sand, strange and foreign and weird to those who hear. The couple who sometimes understand don't listen anymore. Shy from metaphors applied by strangers, afraid of those who analyze us, we built walls. Our sandcastles contain everything raw, everything sad and wounded and real. We grimace at the thought of letting you in! But we want so badly to have it all torn down, violated, broken. Then again, we get along fine with the sand-dwelling creatures, with the scorpions and their acid-prick poison words that hardly graze our skin. We just want to sleep through it, sleep-walk, day-dream, alone alone alone in a crowd too thick to let us breathe. We inhale.

Update:

I didn't tell her.
It's not that  important, is it?

things i'm thinking of this morning.

I'm so confused about college. I wish someone would tell me what to do. Too many choices, and I've no idea what choices are the right ones.

Fionna and Cake are coming back!

As far as relationships go, I don't believe that exclusivity or permanence is perfect for everyone. I don't think everyone needs to get married. I don't think identical, cookie-cuttered relationships work for us all. Some people just want a cuddle buddy, a lay, a long-term friend, a housemate. And sure lots of people want a husband or a wife. But to just assume that that's the perfect relationship and look down on people who don't choose it is just sort of rude.

There have been about twenty moments I've come so close to telling her I'm queer... But then she takes her shirt off in front of me and I figure it's probably not a good time. It's complicated, I'm not attracted to her, but I don't want her to over-think things. She leaves tomorrow, will I tell her tonight or let it be...?

I don't want to go to the fair, urgh, why did I make this promise, I'm tired and driving sucks.

Mom seems to have accepted the idea that I'm not straight. But she cried, she's sad that I might be treated poorly in life. It sucks that it's hard for her. It's obviously kind of hard for me, too. I still can't openly discuss the topic with her, but I guess this is better than being scolded or belittled.

On the other hand, she attacks everything else that I am--the way I dress, the way I think, the person I've become. She says I seem more bitter and miserable than I used to be. I told her I used to be sad, all the time. She told me I'm imagining things. I'm still irritated about that whole conversation.

i want to go for a walk, barefoot, like you taught me.

I couldn't even act like a person, like a responsible adult person.

I couldn't get out an un-mumbled word or say anything I wanted to say.
And my mom was there, and she makes me feel smaller than I am.
(I'm pretty small already.)
I really just want to curl up and take a nap.
They all exhaust me a lot more than they used to. 

You're the only one who doesn't make me want to sleep.

Can I like, keep you in my pocket or something?

Because I'm afraid of everyone else.
And you always make me feel alright.

I wore a sweater today, but it was a waste.

i'm only human, and i like to cuddle.

Dear hypothetical, non-existent you,

I just want to bring you wildflowers and peace tea. 

I want to kiss your knees through the holes in your jeans. 

I want to use your lap as a pillow as you brush your fingers through my hair. When I get a headache, that's all I want. When all the people make me want to sleep, can you just brush your fingers through my hair? Or if that's not socially acceptable at the moment, hold my hand.

I want to smell the smoke on your clothes and wonder at where it came from, what adventure brought it there. I like it. But sometimes I want to smell the dryer sheets. Oh and sometimes we won't need clothes (particularly pants, who needs pants), I'll just bring my nose to your collar and breathe you in.

I want to taste your lips, to memorize how they feel, pressed against mine.

I want to wear something that you picked out, just for me. I don't like shopping all that much, but maybe you'll make it alright. I think I could find some motivation, seeing you all excited about what I should get. Or maybe you don't like shopping either. That's alright, we'll just drag each other out to the mall every now and then. We'll make an adventure of it and reward ourselves afterwards with pretzels or ice cream. Oh and you should borrow my clothes, I like that.

I want to hold your body on cold nights and your fingers on warm ones. 

I want to play you songs on my guitar, listen to you play. I want to share playlists and pandora stations and nights at shows. Show me the things you like, the sounds that make you excited or the songs that perfectly express how you feel. 

I want to see animated movies with you--and maybe scary ones too, if you let me sit close and sometimes hide my face against you. 

I want to give you gifts that are warm, like handmade things or a nice sweater. 

I want to be the little spoon sometimes and the big spoon sometimes; it's fine to trade off, I think. (I'm probably best-suited to big spoon, so that's okay, too.) I'll hold you when you're sad, and I won't tell you to cheer up, I'll just hold you.

I want us to smell similar but different. Well, as long as we smell nice. 

I want to laugh, play, simply enjoy things with you. Little things, huge things, unimportant things, colorful things, quiet things, everythings. 

I want to confuse people, make people uncomfortable, break rules with you. 

I want to get to know you before you go, if you decide to go someday. I can't really tie you to me, and I don't feel that I should. But let's enjoy this very moment. Let's enjoy each other right now. We won't use labels that make things uncomfortable or too high-school. I freak out at commitment, so just be my best friend.

It's not that I desperately need you, and I absolutely won't find someone only for the sake of having someone. But it would be nice to have a hand to hold and to hear a few more excited "see you tomorrow's."

sacrilegious nonsense, and also swearing. (the usual.)

I was raised right. My parents set me up, first class tickets to Heaven, bought at their expense and handed to me on a silver platter; I didn't know suffering! I thought God was beautiful, my beautiful friend. I never heard his voice, but they told me he loved me. What kid doesn't believe in the love of those who seem so much bigger than them? 

But now that I'm big, too, I realize how small we are. I realize that sometimes, love is just a word we use to make ourselves feel better. 

Now I see what this religion has bred. Misogyny, racism, prejudice, hatred, bloodshed, pain. It's not God's fault though, right? "It's the fault of this human sin!"

God made humans, God made everything, God made it imperfect. It was good? Good enough. But not perfect. How could it not be his fault? Surely the ALL-POWERFUL GOD OF THE UNIVERSE was capable of making something that wouldn't shatter after a few days of running around naked and wonderful.

I am small! I am tiny! And the tragedies of this world are strapped onto my back?

Following God never made me happy. I realize the point isn't to be happy. But if it feels all wrong, how can it be right? What about conscience, what about our natural compass? I feel one way, they tell me I'm wrong.

The needle spins and spins and spins!

But I have no conscience, I guess. My queer lust and confusion threw it off a year ago, right? I'm just too gay to see straight. I'm just too liberal to be intelligent. 

I'm just so fucking fucked up and it's all my fucking fault!

... Honestly, I don't want someone to blame for that, for how fucked up I am. I don't think I'm all that bad, definitely not evil. Sure, I've got my flaws but I also like myself a lot and I'm alright.

I am small and I am tiny but I've tried to fit the universe inside my skull. And no matter how hard I look, I see no Christian God, I see no place for him, or his holy book, or his preachers, or his pretend perfection, or his claims to justice. 

I'm not saying it's wrong to believe in things, I just don't like it when your beliefs try to force me into compliance as well.

I like girls and profanity and Panic! at the Disco.

Stop telling me to pray, I'd rather go to Hell.

i wrote this a while ago, it's still hard sometimes.

smoke and colours filled our sky. and light! and noise so loud, i couldn't feel my heartbeat like i usually do; i couldn't feel the bass of our bodies, the dissonance we create when we almost touch. i curled my toes into the grass.
i'm all powder, shoved into cardboard, lit on fire, and shot into the dark.
and something chokes off my words and my breath and i'm left burnt out and empty and tired, trash on the lawn in the morning, crumpled and charred, paper tubes and ashy rings on the asphalt.
likes me not, likes me not--
all the daisies echo.
but i only wanted to scoot closer and touch your fingers.
just to see how it'd feel.

my how you've grown.

How much longer
Until we're all fixed up?
Until we're right?
All together
With our normality
Or scarless bodies
Or thoughtlessness
Or contentment
Or tiny universes
Or mature relationships.
Adults!
For benefit of the illustration,
I'm an aged man, unable to change,
Covered in my old wounds,
And set in my stubborn ways.
There are graves waiting for people like me.
I'm a child who refuses to understand,
Certain that this world is centered at my feet,
Not bothering with conventional things.
There are long-winded lectures waiting for people like me.
I don't know if I'm capable of fitting between,
I don't know if I want to be.
... Though sometimes it gets lonesome.

sort of objectively speaking.

"Alright, so I've finished letting this set in, here's my final word. He was kind of harsh and you're kind of sensitive. Neither of you was entirely right or entirely wrong. But that's the thing--a lot of shit is grey. His opinion, your opinion, my opinion of something is only a part of the truth. And a part of the lies. Both. None of us can see everything... So what if you don't agree? You don't need to. If he's so angry, he can choose to get over it or go. If you don't like things about him, same to you."

On an emotional and personal level, dropping my attempt to be unbiased (Which, note, is impossible, we all believe things, we all have bias, everything I said was biased towards my opinions that everything I said was true. Complicated, hm?), I still side with her original stance.

I just feel sort of sad that she feels stupid or would doubt her opinions just because he's ranting, same as she was. The entirety of "them" as in them together just makes me bothered and annoyed more often than anything else.

no to normalcy, really.

I am perfectly happy, I am perfectly sad. I desperately want things I can't have. I talk back too much, I keep my mouth shut too often. I want to be boyish today, I don't care tomorrow. I'm always over-thinking, I don't take anything seriously enough.

Again, I am contradictions. I no longer make sense to mother.

I will change bits by bits, inevitably, but I think I'm fine like this. Imperfect, of course. But alright.

And I can't change too much and still feel like me. I won't let things pass me by for the sake of a "secure life." I'll examine the little things, like sketches and kittens, and the big things, like the universe and abstract thinking. I can't be a wife or mom, I'm most certainly unfit. And I don't want that, anyway, could everyone kindly stop trying to convince me that they know better?

Exploration, stillness, imagination, observation, creation, dissection, cacophony, silence, colors, greyscale, everything, nothing.

I'm a product of opposing forces! I want to be a cynic, scream "eff it all!" but I want to be a lover and hold onto you all. I want to keep the ones I like around to join me in my solitude. I want to bleed colors and see greys.

Hey, I'm not the first to despise the average, and I'm not the only one.

My friend from jr. high is going shopping for a wedding dress tomorrow. And my pretentious attitude is creeping up again! Because face it, I think I know best, for some reason. I just feel like they'd get it if they could see things the way we see them... Stop!

It's difficult to explain it, the words aren't working well right now. Or I'm just as confused as the rest. Both. Neither. Everything. Nothing.

Nights like these. (These rare nights where I can't find sleep, I curl up pantsless in my nest, my hair a wreck, my thoughts on everything unimportant...) Nights like these, I just want to be honest. Honestly, I want to cuddle the crap out of everyone. I want to cuddle them so hard. And also show them some sense/nonsense/whatever.

This is a dumb post. Go to sleep.

bluntly put, the anxiety is going to get me killed.

And cliches tickle my nose-- 

thin, dusty, beautiful, 

butterfly-winged cliches,

that have swirled about my stomach

and brushed my heart 

with hurried, unbearable flitting.

See, this is a stupid metaphor. 

And I'd really like to sneeze all these fucked up feelings out.

I'd just really like to feel steady again.