and still i listen to the sound of the woodenfish
when thoughts get too loud
words come, but even when practiced before, they don't come the same.
i'm kept around too long to discern some point, any point, from what i'm about.
the fucking horror of it all is the pointlessness.
but there's just no money in philosophizing.
when the dam breaks, it breaks for good, and the only way to survive is to learn how to swim.
practice makes perfect, they say, but i don't think 'they' ever dealt with the deluge.
ever made a simple plan to deal with a complex nature?
go ahead and whisper your sweet nothings to wind. wonder if they'll reach me. i'll answer to river, knowing that it doesn't matter either way.
both beloved and tumult.
About the Creator
kp
I am a non-binary, trans-masc writer. I work to dismantle internalized structures of oppression, such as the gender binary, class, and race. My writing is personal but anecdotally points to a larger political picture of systemic injustice.
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