danualthemanual

[danualthemanual]

a smile with

nothing

behind the eyes

or perhaps a little

too much

a knowledge I won't

divulge

unless you ask the

right questions

languid in shadows

or

tucked in plain sight

smiling as wide as a

cheshire kitten

can't you feel me

blurring in your

peripheral vision

you've heard my names

in eavesdropped conversations

or seen their letters

scrawled into tree bark

or papers

next to inconsequential

and bewildering sketches

you'll never call it

to find me though

and I'll never respond

to it either

I'll be there

just when you think you

don't need me

but you really do

a tickling in the

back of your brainstem

that whispers to

scratch it

ill spin your arrow in

some direction

pulling you on

in blind but faithless

trust

a benevolent

and

megalomaniacal guide

then dissappear

forgotten

[danualthemanual]

I looked at God

and She asked Me

"What did you do?"

I spoke.

I posted.

I donated.

I prayed.

She frowns, and asks me again:

"No,"

"What did you Do?"

And I knew I wouldn't see Those Gates.

[danualthemanual]

tried to make sfw "poems" with my erotic poetry fridge magnets

[danualthemanual]

I dreamed of a dying kitten

a soft orange tabby

sprinting around the bathroom

of my old home

on its broken legs

I sobbed

and tried to hold him close

and almost keeled over too

when he finally laid at by bruised knees

under my shaking hands

and looked up at me with his panicked

hazel eyes

I woke up at five this morning

with a pit in my gut

and my hands covering my eyes

and sincerely wishing

that I died there with him

where I belonged

[danualthemanual]

I'm terrified of going home and not being recognized

I'm terrified of going back and it not feeling like home

I woke up this morning with my hand over my eyes

and if I hold them shut for a moment longer

and pray I can at least remember the smell

I can't

[danualthemanual]

Needs Must When The Devil Drives…

(My contribution to the growing House MD poetry collection)

[danualthemanual]

Ah, young love, but please

shut the fuck up about him.

He's not THAT great, yuck

[danualthemanual]

I imagine laying on my stomach on the ground, facing the west, and the afternoon sun, cheek against the cool dirt. The grass would brush and tickle against the skin on my sides, giving me goosebumps. It would crush and flatten against my stomach and chest, feeling soft and tingly, and it wouldn't mind, even though I block light, I would feel warm and yielding against it. It would be a warm summer day, but the forest floor would be cool and moist, protected by the green foliage around it. The moss under my stomach and near my neck would feel soft and almost brush like, and I'll run my fingers against it.

I would feel myself sinking into the soil, being taken in by roots, disassembled and decomposed by miniscule organisms, worms and the like. The roundess, the harsh edges, the parts that stick too far out and sink too far in, all crumbling away with the sweet caresses of time, of erosion, of summer showers and cool winds. It might itch or irritate, tingle all over as the worst of it sloughs away, but I would lay still all the same, and not interrupt, because I know how important it is, and how happy it'll make me. It would feel warm and tingly just at the edges of myself, then cool, then numb, and then weightless. Weighed down. Redistributed, equalized, balanced out.

After a while, I would place my palms to the earth, and lift myself away from the ground, but only up to the waist, then turn over, back to the ground, face to the twilight sky. I would take deep, shuttering breaths, and feel my lungs fill with the air, with the breeze blowing through the holes and wounds in my skin, over and under my rattling bones, inside and out. The worms, the grass, the dirt, the fungus, all would brush and prod at my back and sides, gentle and yearning and hungry for more, but it won't take more than I'd give, it's patient, and it knows it will have all it wants from me in the end. But I would just breathe, feel the rays of the setting sun and the cool droplets of misting clean and purify the wounds, avulsions, and necrosis affected tissues. I would lay there, in pieces and whole at last. When what good was left behind recovers, it will reform, knit together, fill in the patches and cavities in my makeup. Pull and stretch over and lay down and mix and mend, like wet clay, like stretching fabric over an armature. In that moment I am Mankind, being sculpted from earth, from dirt and dust and clay, being given new life, a new shell, a new skin, made in the image of the divine, but housing the same soul. Spirit unchanged.

When the mending is over, when I am functional, when I am complete, I'll push myself from the dirt, sitting up, then standing, the ground and it's inhabitants brushing their goodbye kisses on my scarred and reformed skin. I'll pull on something thick and warm, having lost skin, gained skin, fats and tissues, and organs, I'll need a minute to regulate my heat, but by then I'll be happy to inhale the familiar scent of who I always was and wanted to be. I'll thank the earth for its time, it's service, and comfort. I'll blow it a kiss and promise another, more permanent stay, but for now I'll go find myself a fresh new home, or an old worn one to return to. I'll shower or bathe and fall asleep happier than ever before. Comfortable and fitting my silhouette

[danualthemanual]

I should get a nice

italian stiletto

switchblade, as a treat

[danualthemanual]

I am divine

mortality in the shape of a God

outfitted with the edges and curves befitting

a creation so blessed

carved from mother earth's crust

smoothed and scrubbed with silt and clay

outfitted in the soft greenery

the rushing wind is my breath

the vast sea, my sweat

my tears

Oh God,

why curse me with such agonizing divinity?

why am I so limited

so butchered and misshapen

fragile and

and wrong

and

disgusting

and

and

oh sweet father

oh righteous mother

tear me to shreds once more

allow me to return to the salt and soil

seep into the mantel above hells eternal flame

let me bask in its warmth

is that what hell is, My Love?

My Lord

My Defiler

a body, a mind, a soul

melted from your holy grasp

a body you haven't touched?

[danualthemanual]

[danualthemanual]

chopping onions and garlic in the kitchen while i consider telling my father i'm transgender . soleil louise , jan 21 2023

[danualthemanual]

my shitty poems

can never match A Machine

For Pigs, god dammit

[danualthemanual]

[danualthemanual]

if there is a God;

christ almighty, man!

can you PLEASE chill out?

[danualthemanual]

a benign sort of

self destruction

that's what I indulge in

cut away thick chunks of hair

from the back of my neck

suck deep ugly bruises

into my pale forearms

stain my skin with black ink

and alcohol fueled markers

I've got so much to live for

can't afford to fall apart now

but I still like to tease myself

gently tugging on a

fraying thread

stopping just

before I

unravel

[danualthemanual]

this morning i seem

different

not half the person i

thought i was

standing at my crooked mirror

bending to get a good view

flat footed with

gangly legs

hands thickened and

roped with sinew

forearms and biceps

darkened and bespeckled

jaw set back

cheekbones high

a thinner face framing

knowing and tired

eyes

what have i grown into

in the time that i was

asleep?