all i was was scared. scared and stuck and hurt and honest and ignored, unable to function, without support. damn near 35 looking 12 still, first day outside, on loop for 20 years.
when analyzing how to survive, many times it occurred to me that the feds were tryna haze me into their club. they wanna add mystique, send people to fuck and abandon me, leave me for dead.
but they treated me same as anarchists and im a pillow prince that they all hated.
i do not like being run off the road, raceplay, or being offered alternatives by valhalla dudes. i do not want to work for the same people that put that device in my arm nor do i want my children babysat by them.
plus the feds sentenced my siblings and homies so them resources like tanks can’t whip the same with me in them.
one day early this summer even the feds left me alone.
decided i was too far a wildcard to recruit even to them.
i believe the next attempt on my life will be another mercenary and hope this one gets distracted by my ass for a millisecond, have been hittin squats just in case.
tbh metaphysics make more sense than dbt. while it is my fault i punch people and chose to function on pure rage it definitely isn’t that i drank beer as a toddler or only understood love to be abusive until right now when i decided to just not think that anymore so i can focus on showing my family one example of care and hope they learn to forgive me enough to share it back.
patterns show i definitely wanted to be alive so much before this time, cannot stay dead now, there is a reason why.
lost senses from warfare, got em back from the Void.
called anchors, Kallisto answered, bringing Chaos and Death to steady the swaying vessel.
i had to be humbled to get to Quatria. having no materials, emergent contacts or healthcare after tasting all, i tried to die last year because i was so sad about how far the plot was lost with the riots and wound up meeting a timehunter who wanted to stay mad at me but had to endorse the power it takes for me to keep the demons like hecate’s dogs.
i started last year’s riots enough to have changed names six times since then — all learned was that resources are never shared back to who cried of needing them first. the part of my autonomy in this story started right around columbine, with conversion therapy, domestic violence and being on the news some times between.
me and George Floyd and were in minneapolis at the same time, tryna start over after being cornered in texas. i was going to hennepin county hospitals, homeless, dying of an unknown neurological illness while my sister in law worked as the queer coordinator for hennepin county hospital systems. they let me stay with them for a couple days until they needed to clear the house out for a poker game.
in october 2018, my sister in law coco told my girlfriend that we could avoid sickness and hate crimes by her shaving, acting a bit more fish while i sat downstairs in my brothers batman themed mancave having a neurological attack, tryna listen to him talk about his electronic washing machine and realized right then that all our dad gave us was matching faces and a penchant for misogyny.
i left and came back to minnie twice, oct/nov 2018 and jan/feb 2019 for healthcare but between the entire bbp and line 3 water protector network and my family working at the hospital all i really got was an angiogram that collapsed every vein in my leg with a doctor induced relapse after eight years off opiates and to watch my kids collapse of sadness realizing that my mobility was the only thing that kept them from being utterly neglected right before my best friend refused to take my money and died from not having it in hand.
forgiveness is an option for one better than this.
vengeance my only sustenance til cups pour back like temperance.
