I don’t want to talk about it
What night? That night?
Do not want to talk about it.
and no one can ever make me
But I feel like they were right
there was - is - indeed something wrong with me
something I have buried that is eating my insides and I can no longer feel my own
lungs go up and down.
where has my life gone?
Well shit, Izzy. get a fucking grip
get your fucking feet rooted to the ground
if you knew me well enough
the way I know me
you would know that I am never like this
I have never cringed at the sight of a spider
I watch horror alone at night after two glass bottles of cider
I am fearless
I am strong!
and strong where I come from means never crying in public, in front of the mirror, in front of anyone
especially not in front of myself
this was not a masculinity feat
it was whether or not you can land on your feet
so when it was my turn to fall
to land deep in the pit of a world of what your world calls trauma
well, fuck! I said no, I do not need this bullshit drama
because when my mind is weak
I will not accept that I have peaked
kill me on my knees before I lose my ability to speak
these bones and flesh will beat a whistle’s shriek
do you want to take me down?
I don’t even fear oceans after I saw death crowned after an attempt to drown
my fragile body
my fragile body
for allowing this mess to go so awry
and for letting you call it tawdry
and now you want me to speak like a martyr?
well I am still alive and much smarter
do not expedite my life
my reasons to keep trudging on this bloodshed strife
because this blurred memory is my story
not your piece of gold to boast for glory
you can make up your own museum of victims and survivors
but me? well I am not an exhibit ready to shine on your timer
give me a load of free weights to pack
trust me, I’ll crush ‘em harder than my anxiety attacks
but no amount of hours spent on therapy
dimes gone to a series to prepare me
for life as I once knew it
when I could breeze past through it
like I never lived through this taboo shit
can ever resurrect this vessel
where this soul had no chance because it was too stressful
the truth is,
I never want to talk about that night
when I left behind
my smiles piled like towers
high heels of power
filth that a shower
can never remedy
this unheard-of felony
when you call me a victim, a survivor
I hope you know that you are just as guilty of placing me on a pedestal that I did not ask for
I hope you know that you are crucifying me
I can lift you over my bench press, but you will never know what I see
what I see lives in my steps, breathes,
what I do next, but I object
I object! absolutely refuse to be used
and reused like you can recycle my abuse
I do not expect you to believe me
do not want you to stop my arms from bleeding
but that does not mean I live in doubt, a fear full of tears without a drought
no! it just means I am not defined nor do I identify with one night of my life
my trauma is valid, but so is every other ray of light that I project.
so keep me off your box left to check
I am not your motherfucking project
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A person with short dark-brown hairstyle like a bob, the character stares out of the composition, directly staring at the viewers of the art piece. Placed to the left of the image, they have light brown eyes, light brown lipstick, and a bandaid right under the eye.
Behind them are asymmetrical dark brown shapes that looks like a mountain side, the shapes even resemble a distorted city.
Izzy (she/they) is a cool cute queer kid from south central. She’s into porn film production, precolonial recipes from the central Nahuatl region, and her favorite punk band is Antiproduct. When she’s not watching TV with her dog friend, Pip, she works on her performance art as a screen actor and as a solo performance artist. Check out her porn film and performance work on IG at @punkandpusssy and be her friend/see her actor life at @izzybravo_