DJT u want carnage? I have more carnage inside of me than u have ever seen. Every day and night i sit in this Days Inn thinking about opening up this 3 pack of kitchen knives i got from big lots so i would have a weapon against myself that might be fatal quickly or more quickly than the slow death of vascular dementia, cte, multiple chemical sensitivity, self-hatred, total fear, sleep apnea, homelessness that i am now living. i bought them when i could not live in the home i had signed a lease for because i can't live with gas appliances and foolishly didn't ask about the gas water heater and then my family and i parted ways and i went back to the days inn. i have been living at the days inn since last summer, the summer before, because i am a terrible partner and even more terrible parent. all last summer i couldn't sleep because of you. i went weeks and weeks without sleep, the fear coruscating through my body like an ungrounded uninsulated wire going haywire in the street that they route cars around. i was hoping to sleep after the election. that is seriously what i thought, that no matter what, after this was over with, i would be able to sleep finally and not have panic attacks on a near-continual basis. i was naive. after the election i wouldn't go outside for days even for food. i was worried they could see through me, see that i was disabled, lame, trans, homeless. i came out as transfeminine nonbinary just before the election because i had to for myself, to acknowledge all those wasted years in sadness and in lostness and to refuse them. i still havent worn a dress since the early 1990's. i feel like a fraud, like a loser. i am alone in winter. what good would a dress be anyway but i choke back something every time i put on pants. like a man-suit, to be called sir, which is half-hearted at best because my social station doesn't befit a sir, when i am just gutter trash anyway. i keep thinking what would it matter if i opened myself up and bled out, or stabbed myself over and over and over until pain or blood loss made me stop.
djt ur flag of hate waves and waves and never goes off the air. there is no conclusion to ur broadcast day. u r up sometimes i can feel it, and u are anxious too i can tell, never able to rest or feel at home, always attentive to threat from inside or out, real or imagined. i wish u would know some peace, some tranquility, but i know u never have. i know if i opened myself up to you u wouldn't understand, that u would feel attacked by a terrorist, even though i would be losing organs, losing an eye, a tongue, a hand, a penis or testicles, all interdeterminate in a wash of blood and viscera before ur motorcade. just a mess to clean up and disappear. not a constituent part of amerikkka.
if i had access to medical marijuana i could slow down or reverse the dementia, the cte, the sleep apnea. i could try and summon myself from leaking out into the aether slowly, lessening daily. if i could wear a dress, even a shitty dress or a nylon skirt, i could partially retrieve what was lost. the other day i said fuck it i am going to wear this nail polish that says it is nontoxic for pregnant women and toddlers and so i put it on regardless of danger but it made me so sick for over a day i couldn't get out of bed. really i knew better but it was just a little thing i wanted so much. fyi u can make a pretty good henna/olive oil nail stain which is actually nontoxic but i didn't wait for that because i am supposed to be a functional figure to get a home even though my income is too low to even be considered income by landlords or rental agencies or property managers. i worked and worked and worked for years, with a tie and gap shirt, gap pants, short hair, stupid goatee. i worked longer hours in devotion to an organization that cast me aside with contempt once i got sick and could no longer perform my duties because of sick building, chronic fatigue, floxin antibiotics, financial collapse, workplace conflict, heavy metal exposure, separation from love, etc. Too many proximate causes. That is before there was ever a concussion or two concussions or more that never healed. I am supposed to be a neoliberal subject who can fend for myself, gather appropriate resources, find food and medicine and shelter and clothing. I can't even sleep without choking and waking up in hypoxia with my hands numb in panic after surviving another series of apneas. I can't even watch a stupid news tv program or a movie. everyone says not to die, but they can't offer me a way to live. i have always been my own problem. my very incarnateness has been too much to cope with, a constant trauma, and ongoing crisis.
i want to step in front of ur limousine, open and bleeding, intestines hanging out, everything severed, until i collapse in the street where an immediate flock of bald eagles descends on my twitching body to take the best parts, fighting with each other and blocking traffic, causing you momentary delay on the way to some stupid event you don't even want to go to but being late for will trigger your anxiety or not, and maybe you will pull out your phone to see what is really going on or turn up the fox news that hopefully ur limousine has until the delay is swept away or carried off and peace can steal, however fitfully, a false dawn.