Experimental Theater

Your brain is sick. The meds you are on are not fixing it completley, even if they are helping. Good words and affirmations cant fix it all either. Art and sharing cannot fix it all either. Love and intimacy and sex cant fix it all either. All these little pieces have been enough to at least keep going. You hope everyday that things will get better, and that hasnt gone away forever either.

I like to take a step back occassionally and review things as logically as I can and ground myself. I'd encourage others to do the same.

Awoken

I never remember to brush my teeth

Until im back on the chair again

I cannot retreat under bright florescent light

Gingivitus

Invites the worst thoughts in me

Pulling decay from me

Sawtooth away

Surgical like a syringe

Blood is drawn

Steel spider

Crawling deeper in my mouth

Bated breath for viscous liquid

I cant swallow

Pain awakens me to my mortality

A specimen in a jar

Waiting to die but im already dead

Like roadkill in a jar

"they stopped talking about luigi mangione to silence us" his next court appearance is 9:00 AM at the New York Supreme Criminal Court, 100 Centre Street, February 21.

the reference number is IND-75657-24/001. it is within your constitutional rights to protest outside of the courthouse, make signs, and voice your opinions as loudly as you can. YOU don't have to stop talking about him. show up.

Me: Its 2am I really should sleep

My brain: But what if you imagined Applejack as a trans fem ***** ***** with a huge ***** **** and a beard, ******* your ***** *******

(Have fun filling in the blanks)

None of us are free from sin.

Chuckin Chicken

2, 3 chicken breasts in the air fryer

It aint enough for you

4 or 5 more

Your hunger I adorned

On my heart, cooking spicy like spicy love

With you

Turned hot when you suddenly said

I aint hungry

But I still got a soft spot

On my heart

For your dumbass bullshit, your games

Packing shit up

But it always ends the same

"Im tired of your bullshit"

He tellin me like I aint shit

Chuckin clothes in trash bags

My fucking trashbags

Clothes I folded so nicely

You folded so icey but you

Cant even drive yourself home

Got me droppin you off

With your clothes

In a car

That you cant even lock

You aint got nothing on lock

But my heart is unlocked for you

Poetry talk: Lesbian never born

I thought id speak about my poem "lesbian never born", or rather the feelings that inspired it. Theres a lot of markers for my transition into a woman but it really feels like it begins on July 2023 when I started hormone replacement therapy. Since then I've changed a lot physically, but mentally I still carry a burden of being a man for 23 years of my life, and the shame instilled in me for my s3xual cravings. Anyone who becomes fixated on p***ography can probably tell you that shame becomes a part of the desire, a part of how you identify yourself. For me that shame is the shame of "he", the shame men often carry. It conflicts with the "she" that i feel i am, and cuts me off from woman, hence the cut of "she" into "he" in the poem. The metaphor of sifting sand is in part my recent fascination of the beach and a memory I have of the beach at Cape Cod (although I remember those beaches being more rocky in reality). I wanted something to capture that ethereal feeling of softness that woman seem to hold to me, and sand felt appropriate. Wind I often use in tandem with love, love that is sometimes cold, sometimes cool. Love for me is tinged with nostalgia, as is wind blowing through branches and sakara flowers. Revolutionary Girl has been a strange fixation for my yearning to be on some level a lesbian, my thoughts are blurred and the words arent really there, which is why i identify so much with the AMV for the anime on Youtube with the song "Winner Takes it All". It is the centerpiece of my poem as nostalgia is a huge crux of who i am, my life is repetitive as is my poetry. Or perhaps history doesn't repeat itself, but rhyme.

Me, a trans woman at the resturant wearing a linkin park sweater: please dont call me sir...i hope he doesnt sir me.

Waiter: and for you Linkin Park?

The Wired

Present Day.

Present time

To me differently

Where the past isnt so far away

Words like rock;

Fill out fossils of my soul.

Fill out the fossils

Of my fucking soul

Fossils like old computers.

Soul like the humm and buzz

Of a CRT TV.

Sounds like telephone poles.

Words carry

Over a billion telephone poles

Is my conciousness real

Or theirs?

Biography

MY ACCOUNT IS 18+ MINORS DNI

"This is not for you"

-Mark Z Danielewski, "House of Leaves"

My name is Dreamgazer, and im 26 years old. I use She/Her and They/Them pronouns. Im also cool with any feminine pronouns you might know. I'm a Non Binary Trans Woman. I'm on the AuDHD spectrum. I started this blog because I've been passionate about writing my whole life. I felt it was time to put my work out there again publically, and see what people think. This is your blanket trigger warning for my blog, because I will not individually label each post for potential triggers. Some topics I might write about may be controversial, but judging by the rest of Tumblr I'm actually fairly mild. Feel free to ask me anything or request poetry. You can private message me if your interested in commissioning me for editing or writing, but poems are free. If you've read this far and you like my writing please consider commenting or rebloging. Feedback is important for me to improve at my job, and is always appreciated. Thank you for reading. :)

-I disagree with Radqueers and Conservatives personally but im open to civil dialouge with either.

-This blog is a safe space for LGBTQIA+ and allies. I also have zero tolerance for hate against people for being cis/straight.

A trans woman looks at herself in the mirror

Iris?

Floating down river as my gaze glimmers over glass.

Weather me woman piercing lights

Cacoon a cascading layer of man, yet each layer ever so thin as paper skin

Blue eyes beautey basking in her light

Breathless at the sight of blood

Soaked in synergy inside her eyes eye

Where her male gaze fades away

Dissappearing into the mirror until a stranger meets her gaze

Its a movie in front of her

Moving picturesque

The beautiful is opaque

Evil is clear and transluscent