i just want to say,
thank you for saving a dying poet.
you saw a worth in me that nobody else did,
dear Protagonize, and i cannot thank you enough for that.
i know i'm not better,
i know i'm not healthy,
my abdomen is a canvas of red
and everything that should be in my veins is not
but i'm alive.
al i ve
such a foreign word
but i'm here,
breathing and maybe not whole but coping
the winter is over,
the winter is over and i have survived
maybe not thrived
but i have survived
and if i can survive the winter,
i can survive anything.
i know i'm too far gone,
ghost touches and chipped nailpolish
compressed ribs and dead houseplants
a constant refrain on 24/7 looped tv inside my head
but this site is always here to come home to,
when i can slip out of my skin
and back into the world i have created
a world of poetry
where my words matter
and there is someone to listen to my grievances
i can't thank you enough.
i can't, and i am thankful that you are here,
because one day,
there will be another dying poet
with bones of metal
and a soul of gold
and they will be better than me
and they will come
and they will stay
and i hope that there is still a home for them here,
lonely yet-to-be writer who just needs a place to be for a little while
my heartbeat is fake,
it is a rhythm tapped by ink through my skin,
but whenever warm fingers overlay my cold wrist
they can see a living being
and that's all i really needed, wasn't it?
so here is gratitude
for a life saved
and a life bleeding through with poetry,
a world to wrap over my head when the noise is too much
because one day
someone here will pass me on a street.
they will pass me on a street in all my queer glory,
and they probably won't notice me.
and i am thankful for that,
for the yet-to-be poet to seek refuge here
and for the fact that nobody here will stare at me on the sidewalk
if only merely because i will exist to be looked-over.