Verity James Scheel

are you queer? is delicacy your shield against conformity? do your words betray elegy with every heaving gasp? are tears your currency of truth, are hearts your currency of desperation? do you weep over beauty and hold the hand of sorrow? do you kiss the gossamer wings of hope as your heart contorts, impregnated with longing? do you cross your eyes and pretend that to live and to love share a bed, wedded together in love and life to the point of their indistinguishability, one never to be mentioned without its partner fluttering in the wings?

remember the spring you, the summer you, the fall you, the winter you – all the yous that make up you that lipstick you that nail polish your rough edges that transition you into you through each next phase of life, flowing river of time

ah spring the season when transfemmes and otherwise queers look at flowers with envy and all seniors look at the tumbling petals with bated anticipation longing to be free of the thrashing wind and at home among the ever-cut grass staring up at the radiant sun in pleasure severed from production, until ever-ground into the earth, the cycle starts anew in excruciating metamorphosis

I have hoarded your love in my breast siphoning from it as necessary, kindling it, cultivating it as it needs until I can repay my debt to you or the world, to whom I owe my humanity, my community, my heart, my life, my love – your love – our love.

fragments tie the world together: a continuous fabric of fibres of interwoven motifs and melodies giving shape and soul to sound and contour and curve to space binding the world as it is felt by all senses in the rhythm of time; frothing and bubbling to fruition, finding space to express your truest! – in fragments of passionate noise

now, you see, being autistic is about the details: details are fascinating, nay, captivating – where meaning lies in nooks and crannies

now, you see, being trans is about the details: the daily little confirmations of the felt gender – in the body or everywhere around

now, you see, being trans and autistic is all about the details: when the world won’t see the whole you, but you find yourself reminded – you’re you

sunshine speaks of love, love that is – is present already, is full and present, fully present already,

not love that could be, nor love that once was, or love that is beginning, but love that’s been a constant companion; with you always: warming your heart, hugging your arms, delighting your eyes, lighting your place as you journey this world;

will the sun rise tomorrow, if it’s just risen yesterday and so many yesterdays before? yes, love will be there tomorrow, shining to greet the risen day, sharing with us its peaceful glow.

odious odorous rotting wood would rot your old falling fall mood

ships

two ships passing gently in the night long wakes caressing – silently white

lanterns

beams of light passing through the mist longing solemnly to be missed

engines

propulsing stubbornly forward, in part due to the incessant nature of the heart

namesakes

lingering around us as brief histories tantalizing traces of past mysteries

souls

for their inestimable beauty concealed waiting for their day to be fully revealed

spirits

unwaveringly finding a true way longing only to see the light of day

waves

hitting the sides with a soft thump before the next round as they carry ships a ways up and then back down

rocking, receding, trailing off whispering this tail:

as the ships glide, so the mice ride, pausing to stare at the great glare of the inarticulate beauty of this world; yet still by their final fate stranded on this orb.

eyes worn dry, red: from focusing on artificial, digital, electronic, for hours.

Ehh.

throat worn dry, sore: from sacrificing water for heat, experience, team, for hours.

Ugh.

tongue worn dry, inarticulate: from persuading others my mind’s ideas for hours.

Bleh.

mind worn out, shutdown: from rules, relentless information overload, for hours.

Gahhh.

body worn out, exhausted: from laying down, standing around, for hours.

Sigh.

soul worn out, weary: from hidden opinions, feelings, desires: my pressures, plus others’.

Meh.

Weekend-trapped, Worn out dry,

Hi.

My whole body is screaming sleep:

I’m tired but something in my mind or my heart just won’t let go and fall asleep tonight …

tired eyes: dry eyeballs, sleepy eyelids.

my throbbing pulse is all I feel in my limp body, arms splayed across my bed, heavy head rested

A screen solves everything…?

> my throat thirsts for more water, limbs acquiesce (drank empty soon)

ancient poetry, modern code? silence unwelcome,

As something in my mind still whirrs, something in my heart won’t settle — I’m stuck in this world tonight

a Jolt shocks my heart, though corporally nonplussed

Interest in mind, yet submerged in tired eyes, lukewarm at best

peacefulness Ignored, disarmed as body contorts

~breathing, laughing, Sleeping~

favorite activities, when they come naturally

My body heaves as my lungs pump — out, they expell all the essential life ingredient; air they gasp in in frustration. Then the tears pour out, each a little bubble of my cosmos of disappointment and fear in life. My mouth is left tingling. My eyes feel the moisture remaining in the corners, like it were just rain and not thunder.

my heart tied bound up tight in a jerkin of jerky thonged with twine laced with red wine

where blood-flushed cells thronging between walls of humming heart cells

ignite pangs of passion with thrumming discontent pressed to erupt out and vent through strings of fears lashed on

but you might find peace twixt the twitches of trite truths, of thoughts of loss punctuated by a turn and a toss

and eventually will prevail gentle loss of thoughts settling into quietness: enveloped in stillness ’til curtains are drawn as morning greets dawn

Physically you know your body needs rest

Mentally if only your brain could calm down

Physically your heart races — cliché to say, but nevermind that

Mentally you can’t argue with your thoughts; a little influence you might exert, but

Physically you must relax while wandering shifting varying your movements to escape the monotony of pain

Mentally your train of thought breaks.

and picks up, again, of its own whim wandering to and fro focusing on no -thing

Physically you long for dark silence & comfort Physically you push that away: maybe some discomfort will mask the pain?

restless … relax!

Mentally you choose to let go to retreat inside your thoughts Mentally you reach for your phone: maybe some screen time will distract the pain?

alas !harmless …

Mentally sleep is the way out

Physically likewise

Physically you roll over

Mentally your thoughts unroll

Mentally you sleep Physically too

Body rests with mind Pain rests now: now you heal — whole in bodymind