In a dream an active shooter is in a building and we are hiding. He eventually finds me and whatever clump of people I am with. I remember thinking to myself in the dream, don’t worry, remember that you want to die, and now is as good a time as any. 

 another tsunami dream

This Time rays parents owned some monstrous house next to a multi story building on the coast and the storm came in and I watched the waves rise and rise and kept trying to gather all the pets and Greg and Frank were being so nonchalant about it and the water was dark blue and as tall as the whole building 

 When the homeless man outside the liquor store asked me what’s wrong I said ain’t you’ve been to Cleveland you know what’s wrong

I can’t believe Ray has turned me into another psycho ex girlfriend 

I can’t believe Ray thinks he can just walk away and face no consequences 

I can’t believe how any of this went down 

It is, in sum, unlivable 

 I don’t think  I need to produce any more

I don’t think I want to publish 

There is no group or cause or organization I want to work for 

Nothing I could mobilize for with my soul 

There is no relationship that could break me any more

Because no one is close to me any more

I don’t want to date or have fun or socialize 

I don’t want to return phone calls or emails 

There is no place I could go to feel rested 

There is no person I could go to for love 

I have nothing left to offer and no desire to even speak 

 So what if there was a monster in me, that Ray claimed to see while chronically incapable of seeing anything real or authentic about me at all? So what if there was a monster, claws and scales and sulfur fumes and all, so long as no one but me ever endured him? 

You thought you were bigger. Stronger. Smarter. Had more resources. Had more standing. 

If the monster in me is the part that lives, then he is the part that deserves life, and I will not apologize for the fact that you found him hard to vanquish. 

the problem is
that i know the universe can, and will, take anything from me
so i live every day in the gutclench of impending scarcity
i stay grateful for what serves me, in the moment that it serves me, not expecting to see that grace again
and thanking the universe when some grace does come back around
in the form of a functional furnace, in the form of running water, in the form of a text that says "you don't have to reply to this, and you are loved, and you are wanted"
the universe can, and will, take everything from me
eventually
this is all just practice

in the end you could not even see me clearly, how my goodbye was please don't die on the street and please don't buy meth and jesus christ i love you so much i almost allowed you to kill me. 

i almost allowed you to kill me standing on the highest cliff i've ever seen in my life, one built of bricks made from the chemicals in your brain dried stiff in the late autumn sunshine, toxic sludge and retch turned terra cotta, scaffolded by the bones of the nightmares your ex gave you. i forgive you for everything. 

i forgive you for everything, even the way eighteen months later you are still all i can think about, my days still making a better world for you and only you, my nights still long dark hours pointed in your direction, you are my pole star. i am the black expanse. 

i am the black expanse and you are always the pattern, the legibility of light and fire and combustion, the inroads birthed across eons that led us to each other. you a comet and i the length of years it takes for visibility, you unwilling to wait and i who have only known waiting. 

i have only known waiting in the hospitals, inpatient facilities, sober houses, courtrooms, doctor's offices, the dark bars standing next to the stages months before waiting for your face and your voice to be illuminated and show me myself, the way i have loved you is forever, is whole. i wanted so much for you. in the end you could not even sense me. in the end your goodbye was only goodbye. 

how to be suicidal and live

"What would it be like to treat grief as power? Even our hopelessness as a form of decomposing and falling away that is sacred" - Bayo Akomolafe

this dark moment
is the time for all the darkness in your life
to be what sets you free:
live in your nightmare with the comfort
of knowing what to expect.
now is the time of alcohol, nicotine, and kink.
let what you hate in yourself lead the way:
what you are scared of in yourself, eat it for breakfast.
what you are disgusted by in yourself, burn it alive in the white hot light
of your undivided attention.
this is a test of endurance. everyone loses eventually.

in the beginning you will debate
telling anyone, telling everyone, telling your therapist.
you will think about pink slips and the word "involuntary"
as applied to your healthcare and not your trauma.
in the middle, you will tell your therapist.
you will tell your doctor. you will tell your partner.
no one will have anything constructive to offer.
in the end, you will tell the cashier
and the lyft driver and the guy downing jack at the bar.
no one will have anything constructive to offer.

to live through this, you must be sure:
you must be sure of who you are, 
of what you want, of what the world is.
you will have to choose to build something new
out of the charcoal and limestone and bile and tears
and needles and urine and bottles and blood 
that life has given you. you will have to be sure
that you want to live in a castle,
near the river,
with windows on all sides with sills of broken glass
and floors of salt and retch. 
you will have to know, in your bones,
that the world will tear this down too. 
and you will have to build it anyway. 

from my castle on the hill i have fired therapists and psychologists,
called the trevor project to ask if they think i am crazy,
called my local crisis response line to be put on hold.
from my castle i run a hostel for lost queers and sad dogs. 
from my castle i host poetry readings,
shouting retorts and recourses out to those who see my turrets
and my vain, ferocious heights and think
that this is something to aspire to.
in the heart of my castle is a thicket, baroque garden gone wrong,
so that when helpers arrive like so many trick-or-treaters
i can vanish, and they can still believe.
castles, after all, are fantasies. 

you too can build a castle, and like all structures
developed hundreds of years ago, before electricity
and diesel and cranes and cement, your castle
will be built of raw human strength. 
many die in the building of their castles.
this is a test of endurance. 
like the pyramids, like stonehenge, like jerusalem
others will read the structure as something foreign, incomprehensible,
born of a culture and a humanity that is not theirs.
build the castle anyway; it is the only place that will save you.
and when you climb to your highest room
in your grandest tower, and look out over the landscape
of a million littered miles, you will notice
how many of us stand tall too, flying flags
and shouting across the void.