felltheadequate

[felltheadequate]

I have just learned that Mountain Goats are NOT, in fact, actual Goats.

#holy shit are mantis shrimp scary #they can punch through aquarium glass

[felltheadequate]

Anomaly/Thorn

O how glorious to be an anomaly! Existence is resistance, and I exist on and on, Never hoping to be a thorn more than now, Never wanting more to be that itch you can't scratch!

They rue my being, and I respond by being. It should say something that even when I hate myself the most, I never doubt this part.

(21 April 2024)

#poem #poetry #original poetry #original poem #queer #queer poetry #trans poetry #transgender #trans #nonbinary #self hate #self hatred

[felltheadequate]

For When I Cannot Write

O visit me, Muse:

Inspire that flame of art within this poet stumbling.

And write through hand mine of the wonders before and the wonders without

And the mundane.

Oh, that painful mundane simpl(e,)(y)

Waiting to be turned wondrous

As the caterpillar becomes the sovereign.

Inspire this damned still hand's movement

Of word and of spirit,

And strike to the belly

With that pure, unadulterated

Feeling.

Let me raise within those beholding

What one may only find within

The truly great

— and truly painful —

Works.

Inspire me, please. Allow me victory.

(19 April 2024)

#poem #poetry #original poetry #original poem #poet #poetry on poetry

[felltheadequate]

A Collection in Love and Loss

Queerness Through the 20th Century

Poet's note: Queer people have always existed. From ancient times, to the 18th century with individuals such as the Public Universal Friend and more than one founder of the United States, to the 1800s with people like Oscar Wilde, and throughout the 20th century's many conflicts and joys, we have always been here. And along with these famous, influential figures, each century was home to countless regular, unassuming people, all gone unremembered. These four poems seek to tell the stories of those forgotten individuals, one era and fight — and victory — at a time, and to reflect on the progress made and what still must be done. Enjoy, and stay amazing.

The Mud.

When I do look into those deep brown eyes, Beneath their heavy brows and cut-short hair I see a river — ancient, beauty rare — Of all that you still hope to be, to rise Unto. And all beyond the mud, the cries, The pain and fear and loss and how unfair This horrid fucking butcher block's cruel fare Has been. What utter fools we were. Unwise.

I'd like to say I love you. And I do. But love cannot exist within these walls Of mud. Our stolen time I too regret. Remember me when you go home, will you? Remember after I've gone o'er to fall. Remember. Please. Remember this duet.

Institute Dead.

They burned it. They burned it all. The papers. The books. It's gone. This is how a country falls.

His knowledge filled these halls. He'd done so much. So much work. They burned it. They burned it all.

It's getting worse. We feel it, a cast pall All around us. The beasts in the night lurk. It's gone. This is how a country falls.

We had hope. A bugle so warm in its call. Now topples that rook. They burned it. They burned it all.

They've made laws. We're un-German. Running out of luck. It's gone. This is how a country falls.

It's been three years. Power growing tall. Camps. Marched into the Rhineland. Versailles denied. Peace shook. They burned it. They burned it all. It's gone. This is how a country falls.

One of the first things the Nazis did upon gaining power was to destroy the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or Institute of Sexology. Led by Magnus Hirschfeld, a gay Jewish man, the Institute was responsible for much research into transgender, gay, and intersex topics, as well as offering contraceptives, services such as alcoholism and STI treatment, and gynecological exams. On May 6, 1933, the Institute was attacked by the German Student Union. Four days later, its contents would be publicly burned. It is unknown how much research was destroyed in the fires.

1987.

I often think on what would have happened if I had turned left. I never would have met you, for one. Never looked into your eyes. Never felt the firm, loving hold of your arms When I felt like shit. When I got kicked out. "A waste Of a girl." "An abomination on God's Earth." Oh God. What I'd do to have more time.

Time. It's funny. One day you're convinced you'll have left The state, the country — if things get really fucked, the earth — And pay no more heed to staying put than rolled eyes. The next you're unsure about everything but where that bin of paper and waste Is sat in your room. And even that is viewed between your hands on your face, and your arms.

I first got tattoos on both of my arms. My family didn't approve. Said I would regret them in time. I say that letting my skin stay all neat and pretty is a waste. I got more. Not much clear skin left. There's a lot of blue. It matches your eyes. The composite color of the earth.

I remember our date in a museum. We were looking at a photo of the earth. You sighed. Your jacket covered all but a bit of skin on your arms. I saw you examining it. Your eyes Flickered back and forth, almost keeping time, Metronomes of wonder and beauty. "It feels like all that's left On there is hate and waste."

I remember hearing about the diagnosis. The waste. You had said from some phonebooth that we needed to talk. I felt upon me the weight of the earth As I waited for you. Something in your voice. Nothing but me and the silent house left. Rubbing at the skin on my arms, Anxiously hoping it would be okay. Wanting to stop time. My soul was crushed when I finally heard you. When I looked into your eyes.

Now they're closed. Those beautiful blue eyes. Why? Why must I see such waste? WHY THE FUCK DIDN'T WE HAVE MORE TIME Why couldn't you have more years, days, hours on this earth? Why can't I feel your arms just one more time? But even through this pain, I'm so glad I didn't turn left.

The memory of those eyes. I can picture them: composite color of the earth. I felt the waste in our final embrace, long after it had taken over your arms. Not enough time. I'm all that's left.

The Turning Tide.

Unaccounted murder here. Hate crime there. New laws governing our bodies this week and next. On and on and on it goes.

"Just keep it away from the children!" from the people fighting child labor laws. More performative, hateful bullshit. On and on and on it goes.

Good people speaking at school board meetings. Campaigns to hold the right people accountable. Community forming. The tune picks up.

"We're here! We're queer! Get used to it!" "Death before detransition!" Chants are issued. The tune picks up.

Law making things easier for once. Maybe it will continue. It's in Germany, but still The tune picks up.

Who knows where we'll be in fifty years?

Years. Years upon decades upon centuries of history. We've been here a while, you know, despite what your uncle on Facebook would have you believe. From ancient times onward. As the fascists rose to prominence. Through disease and hate and death And a whole generation butchered on razorwire we have existed and fought tooth and nail. We have always been here. Get with it Or get out of our way.

(18 April 2024)

#poem #poems #poetry #original poetry #queer poetry #queer #lgbtq #lgbtq history #trans #transgender #gay #lesbian

[felltheadequate]

A Separation in Wood

And closes now that oaken door

‘Twixt fire in hearth of stone to roar

and biting, vicious exèd tor

rent. Hide-hid Windows flutter fast

And out put lantern, begging bright

To be a greeting. Be a light.

‘O(h), be the thing that in invites!’

The long-wished words, hope-whisper’d, last.

But closèd tightly so it stays.

Those sturdy boards shut out the day

but let in dourest, lonely night;

Let in cold. That wind that bites.

It might open. One day.

might.

(11 April 2024)

#poem #poetry #original poetry #original poem #isolation

[felltheadequate]

"You're just jealous"

So about jealousy.

A bad thing. It's incorrect.

And sure, I'll cede,

Don't covet the shirt from someone else's back.

But there's more to be said

About your response, lacking all possible substance.

They're sound grievances, you know,

But go ahead and spout your clueless utterance.

Sometimes, yes, sometimes,

It's not the jealous in need of correcting.

The jealousy isn't the problem.

It's not their wrong that needs that righting.

I think I'm perfectly right

To mourn the vacations I never took;

While others went to Greece or Scotland

I stayed behind, at nothing but the same old boring bullshit to look.

And furthermore, I don't think I'm wrong

To see your private plane suite complaints

And feel within me my anger building.

You'll be there for less than a fucking day, you caviar-guzzling trust fund taint.

You want more? Hell, I'll deliver.

Let's address those shirts again!

While I'm denied pleasure after pleasure,

You can just drop $1500 on an ugly, gimmicky top for a French name.

Shall I continue? Yes.

Security. Security itself.

Not men in suits, no. I don't care about that.

Just to not fear for where I'll live all the time would probably improve my mental health.

Where to finish? Oh yeah.

Fuck your attitude. Really. I mean it.

You have more money than could ever be used

And you have the nerve not to acknowledge shit.

So yeah. I'll be jealous.

I want to see the world.

Not worry about finances.

Know my loved ones have homes, and beds on which the cats can curl.

I need to breathe.

I need to rest.

And I need you rich fucks

To not take this all as some plebian jest.

I get to be fucking jealous.

(6 April 2024)

#poem #poetry #original poetry #original poem #leftist #leftist poetry #angry poetry

[felltheadequate]

Ruins

I've seen ruins.

I've seen ruins of failing stone, cracks formed throughout.

They spread, sometimes with sudden blows of hammers, but always, inexorably, creeping deeper;

Seizing the heartstrings, veins, as a cancer.

And when those ruins crumbled, the rain poured like seawater upon sailors caught in vicious, untamed storm.

The salt stung.

I've felt ruins.

I've run my fingers across the weathered rock, scarred and bruised.

There were others, too, all soon to fall

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

They’ll blow into that freest sky, so blue and clear

Yet though I see egress, the granite towers.

The light enters and seeks my eyes, yet I must ask "when will it be over? When can I rest?"

And start to hear the hammer-blows weakening. Slowing slowly.

I will silence them. Yet still I ask.

I live in ruins.

I while away my time in an old, beautiful remnant.

While away the hours until the freedom I know will come.

Within this place walks not any malice-stricken revenant.

Mosaics keep the evils out.

They whisper their calmest tan hue, so gorgeous when struck by Sol in its fall.

Still life does walk these ancient floors.

Still life does haunt these ancient walls.

I am ruins.

Dust-turned stone.

Falling towers.

Roman baths.

Beauty.

History.

Ruins.

They are me, and I am them.

I am imperfect.

I am crumbling.

I am beauty in our star's fall.

I am dark and lonely in the night.

I am a mosaic.

I am scared.

I am lost.

I am me.

I am ruins.

(5 April 2024)

#poem #poetry #original poetry #original poem

[felltheadequate]

Happy Trans Day of Visibility all!

[felltheadequate]

HAPPY TRANS DAY OF VISIBILITY!!

LOVE TO ALL MY FELLOW TRANS PEOPLE, AND A WORD OF WARNING: DO NOT COMMIT CRIMES ON THIS DAY. FOR ON THIS DAY, THEY CAN SEE US. WE ARE NO LONGER INVISIBLE, SHADOWS UNDER THE COVER OF NIGHT, CREATURES OF MYSTERY.

SAVE YOUR CRIMES FOR TOMORROW!

AND YOU ARE SO, SO, SO VALID AND LOVED, NO MATTER WHAT ANYONE SAYS. OKAY?

YOU ARE VALID EVEN IF YOU'RE UNSURE. OR IF YOUR IDENTITY KEEPS CHANGING. OR IF YOUR GENDER IS UNKNOWABLE (INEFFABLE!). OR IF YOUR GENDER GOT STOLEN BY SOME FAE. ANYTHING.

YOU ARE VALID, NO MATTER WHAT. NOTHING LASTS FOREVER. BUT AS MY OC ADRIAN ONCE SAID, IMPERMANENT DOESN'T MEAN UNIMPORTANT. EVEN IF IT IS A PHASE, SO WHAT? IT'S SO PRECIOUS.

AND YOUR IDENTITY IS NOT DEFINED BY YOUR DYSPHORIA OR LACK OF IT. BEING TRANS IS NOT JUST ABOUT THE BAD TIMES. YOUR BODY HAS NO RELATION TO YOUR GENDER AND YOUR GENDER HAS NO RELATION TO YOUR PRONOUNS AND YOU ARE A HUMAN BEING AND YOU ARE FREE AND LOVELY AND VALID.

YES?

GOOD.

GOOD.

I LOVE YOU.

[felltheadequate]

I try not to reblog too much on here (it's mostly kept to @feamyngthesuperb) but I have to. Dropout will always be an exception.

please watch my favorite game changer clip ever

[felltheadequate]

Just found a stinkbug. Did I crush him like capitalism upon the workers? No. Released him outdoors, but comrade got leered at. Up close. Made him uncomfortable. Get leered at, idiot.

#not the king though #get leered at. #Got leer?

[felltheadequate]

X doesn't seem like a real letter.

#it just doesn't #maybe not a fake letter #but it doesn't seem to fit in like C or A #even Z and Q seem more real #it's 1:23 AM

[felltheadequate]

This is why I read the reddit comments

#historical fiction not fanfic #but yeah digging through several sources to see which Scottish clans fought under the Stewarts of Appin at the Battle of Culloden #my first couple just said “approximately 19 other clans” and that was not useful #also the records of a specific clan's survivors after the battle

[felltheadequate]

Jesus fuck please vote. Put your idealism aside for one moment and do what is necessary. If you do not, you are voting red.

To anyone who is choosing not to vote for Biden over the shit he's pulling re:Israel, do you really fucking think that Trump won't make it even worse? Do you really fucking think he won't also start supporting the genocide of queer and trans folks here, too?

Just fucking vote. Please.

#voting #2024 elections #election #please fucking vote

[felltheadequate]

Wax

It forms a likeness. Famous faces stiff.

It drips on bare-made breasts and skin exposed.

It burns 'round wick, vellich'rous room to light.

It shows char-blackened wood until now closed.

It's stamp'd on correspondence written fond.

It smells of fruit and wood and tree and love.

It's painted falling down to silver bright.

Its growing Rorschachs birth a flying dove.

Faces.

Bare.

Wick.

Dove.

(3 March 2024)

#poem #poetry #original poetry #original poem #wax

[felltheadequate]

The whole thing is fucking horrifying. This bastard needs to face accountability.

Oh, and fuck the pigs who have the sheer audacity to claim Nex didn't die from their assault. They suffered severe repeated head trauma. Are these fucks going to say Nex had fucking fentanyl in their system or something? Let's see the fucking coroner's report, you disgusting, lying pieces of shit.

I am writing to ask you to consider sharing a petition. I don't know how far the story has spread, but a non-binary high schooler in Oklahoma (where i live) named Nex Benedict was killed as a result of an attack at Owasso High School two weeks ago. They were attacked on school property.

The state of Oklahoma School Superintendent, Ryan Walters, who has spent his tenure focused on book bans, villainizing teachers, fighting "the woke agenda," and whatever will get him on Fox news. As a part of this he has formed partnerships with the Moms for Liberty and Libs of Tiktok person, Chaya Raichik.

All of these actions include a near constant barrage of attacks on the lgbtqia community. As an lgbtqia person myself, with kids who are also part of the community, including non-binary children, i am incredibly saddened by Nex's death, and worried about the safety of my own children in this state.

It's just a petition and i know the impact feels limited. It feels small to me, but i would like to ask you to share it in the hopes that it might bring some news coverage and open talks in this state about removing this public official for the good of the community.

I appreciate your time and attention. (Obligatory big fan, because I am.)

The petition can be found here: https://chng.it/CvHz2J8QW4

Thanks.

Happy to share it.

#justicefornex

[felltheadequate]

Cut Short

I see the headline.

Murdered. Repeated head trauma from the floor.

Is that what this fucking world does?

Their life cut short for just being who they are.

It's not just the world, though.

We know who's to blame.

I wish horrible things on the monster at fault

Who was given a fucking job for this shit.

I'm so fucking tired.

May you rest in peace.

(19 February 2024)

#justicefornex #hate crime #poem #poetry #original poetry #original poem #queer poetry