the hero sleeps

the story of it all
is lacking, 
is hackey-sacking
the truth is:
we're exhausted
& one can only
see-saw so much

to externalize oneself anew
is holy, is revelatory
to constantly check feeling
to obsess & see relief,
not as in peace, 
as in other, the reverse
yes, there's much 
to be said for this
& also the dream of a break,
with rigor, draws near

a rigorous break
a pause in the pressure
an allowance of all things
girl, even if man pushes thru, too
a knowing that there is no
one thing
a pressure off
a valve released

to say, it is ok
to be this way, all things
to say, even if one new aspect
was revealed, it's not the only
even if it seems like it
in an instant
to say, it's ok
to let things be, to take it
slowly

the lifelong search
for an answer as to
why i am not ok

the witch, the ocd
the spoils of colonialism
festering in one's bones
the faggot, the dyke
the abused child,
the bullied
the sensitive artist, 
the crying girl, 
the self-obsessed victim
who can't shake free

yes, trans is one answer
one revolution, a big one
here we are, all twins
never-ending
here we are, dancing
across the spectrum

the pressure, or sense
that because one can see it,
one is it, or absolutely

i am a man, laughing,
& i wonder if this is
the best me, the real me
the one i must be
a whole hog endeavor
as if all else has only 
been coping or covering,
if beloved

the nexus of where
truth & "mental illness" meet
the trauma response of it all
the exhaustion
the sense you can never stop
until it's done
the sense that something is wrong
& must be made right
the constant compulsion
to check & review
to compare, to take another's story
& make it your own-- if they did it
this way, then i must too, or because
they did, i am destined to
the lack of agency
in one's life,
this way

we want to stream & stream
we want to stop looking
to be free of pronoun decisions
& even visuals
to turn brain to other things
yes you have a dick, so what
you have a pussy, too
the degradation of saying
there is only one way
the shivering in the wind
when one's way 
hasn't been paved
when some fortuitous
& abundant amalgamation
hasn't been realized

look, i'm not trying
to escape something
rather, to create a nest
the sense, you must go further
& further to really know,
the sense you must let go
of all you've loved to become
more real in the next realm

the "hero's journey" 
is a tiresome thing,
& sometimes i wonder
if the winding 
must wind down
i draw a scallop
from my new seashell 
oracle deck, & learn
in some mythology
it marks the end of a journey