i typecast myself again as the lone wolf
trekking through forest late at night unarmed and unable to see
i dont give a shit.
i dont care if they shoot me
shiv me
bleed me out
fuck my dead ass til i split
fuck my dead mouth til i get alligatored
fuck my dead ears til the drums smash
fuck my dead nostrils til my whole body reeks of venison and white leather
fuck every single hole that they shot into me
toss me into a wood chipper and turn me into a bloody cum infused mulch that they use to color the white house lawn and impulsively declare it a seasonal change for valentines day
so that every cis white family across the country starts doing it
i fire the biggest penetrating shot of all, the forced revelation of the true demon barber of fleet street hiding under the suit serving the bodies of the slain as your dinner at Stanfords
i join the committee and add my bit to the case while the ark scene from raiders keeps inching its way toward them

ill die even if it means whoopie im getting the fuck out of here whats another 24-27 year old tranny like me
anyway theyll say my wrong name and everything else and my parents will seize the opportunity like a fresh insurance check to take control of my life narrative. to pacify me and erase me in place of an old painting of me when i was 10, dressed as the biblical prophet bearing my deadname. flip this album play it in reverse as they erase every second of it back to the beginning as they will do the same to me too in proud cooperation with their centuries old constituency.

or ill somehow not die. somehow ill unrealistically single handedly destroy all that keeps us down and be hailed as super tran. thats the most undesirable outcome. to inexplicably do that much just for herodom. to take up all this monumental space previously occupied by what i had just destroyed robbing the more deserving and the more belonging of it. to create unrealistic expectations of the self when i never even expect much out of me. just not getting another health scare maybe. keeping my loved ones here, within loving distance. to love my brain and my brain to love me. the Hammer must fall, and so must Bethyl, onto her bed. even monsters follow a circadian rhythm. its a structure not meant to stand and i was never meant to cause this much with my one working hand. i try to do it deep down because i know it has to be. i know i wont succeed. but at least maybe i could show someone how far i get before i finally collapse. i am no hero. i never want to be a hero. just a friend. just a bitch with a secluded house and some trees, one day. i consider finding a way to return to my true home of ireland. maybe poland too, when it can eventually heal. but home for me is wherever i was put. things still grow in deserts, life bubbles up from magma, and flowers sprout from the bulging veins on screaming foreheads, indicating they will be the new host. i build my home between rivers that freeze and big calm lakes where the world ends half way in and your just lost looking into it. my village expands to two houses, two families, with more to come, building from the ground up a generosity in healing, growth, and the yields by those beyond the populist deity. we become Super Trans, defined by a new state of being. everything is a beast to be tamed and untamed. tomorrow, i learn which one is me. and at the end of it, that is the world that I will rule.