nonspeakingpoetry - Tumblr blog

[nonspeakingpoetry]

I love being a gay, uranic, multipluralic trans boy. I love being greysexual and cupiosexual at the same time. I love hoarding xenogenders. I love being a rainbow of intersectional identities all wrapped into one glorious queer being. Every single inch of my identity is queer in a beautifully complex way. From the strands of my hair to the tips of my toes, queerness courses through every fiber of my being. It's in the way I walk, breathe, and hold myself with unapologetic pride. It's in the way I dress, the art I create, and the spaces I occupy.

[nonspeakingpoetry]

Architecture

And it hurts because they've seen every second of it.

Every little bit of suffering you've endured. Every time you've cried. Every time you've bled. Every time you've lost life.

They saw all of it.

And I wouldn't have ever guessed that later down the line they would have the privilege of meeting someone as beautiful and perfect as you. And I wouldn't have ever guessed that later down the line they would have the displeasure of witnessing everything.

Because you deserve the world, you really do.

And I am so sorry.

[nonspeakingpoetry]

Inguene

Damp fire, a hot and dry entity being drowned in the cold, heedless liquid.

A new flame, being aged quickly by vituperative liquid.

Back when the flame was fresh, twas an inguene one. You ruined her, she is munted now, derelict.

Her clear glass windows now tinted, stained with her own blood.

How can one go on, when you've abolished what was oneself?

He is tinted, stained with his own blood. His flame damp and flickering.

You can call him deranged all you want, but eventually you must admit you were the one who made him this way.

[nonspeakingpoetry]

Solace

Do not repost without my permission, even then, you must credit me.

Safety, warmth. A magical sensation, a sensation of true belonging, a sensation of hope. A sensation of solace. A solace I long for. A solace I yearn for, even.

Why is it some achieve this solace within you so easily? Born into this solace, this warmth. I sit in silence, as the intervening cold grows near. This cold, this trepidation, as I grew it grew too. Trepidation turned to hubris. Hubris brain, hubris heart.

Shame. Hubris is shameful.

Fix it.

Fix it.

Fix it.

Fix it, or that warmth we speak so highly of will come to you, it will come to you with the strength of a titan. Warmth will turn to hot, hot will turn to burns. Deep burns. Burns that will melt your skin, melt the layers clean off your bones.

Those sickly bones.

The warmth was never warm. It was no solace.

I've now found that through the disquiet of the cold I missed the point.

You, were the cold. Ice. Ice so cold, so unfathomably cold it burns skin. Leaving deep pink scars atop my outsides.

Some species, the polar bear for example, are meant for the cold. They thrive in it. However, when you take a snake, and suddenly pitch it into the snow, well, it dies.

[nonspeakingpoetry]

Hello, welcome to the sideblog. (Main blog is @notepadcollective )

Here I will be posting my poetry.

A bit about me: I am nonspeaking, autistic, queer, multiply disabled and plural.

FOR MY DNI, CHECK PINNED POST ON MAIN BLOG! ⚠️