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Sleep Research Facility

03:07                                                                13:34

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Poetry.

• home.
• Uncomfortable
• Bunt
• Brain Worms

Uncomfortable

I am uncomfortable.
Because I was born in a body in which the world as a mirror does not show my own reflection back to me.
It tells me that my shape defines a set purpose, strength, and movement that I will or won't cultivate.
That my color assumes a set personality, capability, agility that I may or may not have.
But I have not even opened my mouth to speak and you have already decided what I'm going to say.
Or perhaps you were lucky enough to hear me speak first, given a window to my soul but who you saw on the other side made you cringe in dismay.I am uncomfortable.
Because I agonize over every word, its meaning, its intent, and its impact.
Though I don't know for sure I've already thought of outcomes a, b, c, and d in the span of time since I started talking.
But I got option e; told to leeeet up a little.
So of course I'm panicking now, becauseI am uncomfortable.
That the wrong or right thing gets mocked and I am left watering from the eyes and mouth trying to explain my pie/ace but you won't stop laughing and I can't stop talking because
I am broken.
I am scared when in danger and when safe, because either of those states can change
which I hate and stress but know full well that is when I am at my best.
Or at least that's what I tell myself so I can feel in control
of a best friend's death that I could not prevent.I cannot sit with myself.
Because the thoughts that flow through my mind are not kind
Which does not match this ego of mine
Which I feel guilty about all the time as I leave my loved ones behind
While I try to climb some metaphorical ladder that only exists in my mind.
And I look to God who may or may not be aligned
With my very existence and I ask for some sort of sign.
Escaped into virtual reality because just the right amount of distance is sublime.
"Wow Jaime sure is content all the time."Meanwhile, I am uncomfortable.
"I just want happiness!"
I say into the void of my consciousness as a mirror does not show my own reflection back to me.
How can I change the world if I cannot change my own thoughts?
If my very existence makes me uncomfortable, perhaps it'll make them uncomfortable too, which might just inspire a change in you.

Bunt

I requested he repeat himself.
"Are you a cunt boy?" he asked.
I scoffed at a question so blatant and so crass.
Not offended, just taken aback, it's a weird feeling to describe
To be so blatantly objectified, but to still feel seen in a world where no one person can understand what an identity means.
Validity is akin to what is viewed on a screen:
Some labels, an avatar, a porn category.
GNC like me but think it's uncouth
To be out in the world living my Truth.
You cannot take your eyes off it, keep turning me in your mind.
Calling me beautiful to my face and ugly from behind.
My existence an illusion, yet solid as a stone.
Just a body interesting enough to sleep with and queer enough to scold.And damn, what a body it is to behold.
"I don't want you to be lonely. Will anyone be attracted to you like this?"
"Gay men all want a penis, and what you've got just doesn't fit.
"Your lips are made for sucking dick, do those down there pucker too?"
"I'd be embarrassed to admit to my parents I've slept with someone like you."Regale me with your eyes, your penis, your teeth.
Look at me and see more than just a sheath
For your thoughts, your desires, the shame for which your heart longs;
I cannot give you rights when you see yourself as wrong.
I've been there, I've done that, being passive and uncomplicated.
It's the current year, it's your current life, that type of thinking is dated.
I look in the mirror and the reflection makes me cry
because I finally see, hear, smell the internal self outside.
Beautiful in the face, beautiful in the mind.
Existence is tangible, ethereal, sublime.
A person interesting enough to love, and queer enough to be toldThat damn, my body is wonderful to behold.
"Your breasts are the perfect size, your butt the perfect shape."
"Your skin has so many patterns, the visual interest is innate."
"Would you prefer it called a penis to suck, or clit to rub?"
"You're so warm, and soft, and inviting, just the right being to hold."Back in the moment:
"Come again?" another said.
"Am I a cunt boy, is what he asked."
"What does that even mean?"
I scoffed, surprised gooning had not tipped him off.
"Yes I am," I answered, "And what a way to ask, if I'm a guy
"I guess in my own way, I really do pass in the mind's eye."

Brain Worms

Tire tread fell off.
Battery dead.
Repair bills being paid off
By the friend I give head.