"We" || A poem dedicated to Lugh

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We

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Burrowed, kind summer leaves.

Dancing across the wind we so heave to be the greatest, a sadness rings through my ears, but it is something such a simple word cannot express as wrenching.

Loneliness.

Oh, but how can a word describe what I feel when that very word cannot relate in one sense, in any way. Loneliness has friends.

The L holds the O's hand, while N and E gossip about L's twin's ex, i. And n's twin, n, speaks to e's twin about dinner, while double s's decide to get into sewing as a new hobby .....

I.

Ah, yes....this word describes it fine. I.

It's single..has no friends, has no veiw of the others. It is secluded, and it can be used to describe many-a-things I feel about myself.

"I can't stand myself"

"I hate my voice"

"I hate my chest"

"I hate my curves"

"I hate my thighs"

"I hate myself".

.....but it isent true, is it?

No.

Because for every moment I loathe the way my voice goes higher when I say a certain word, is the moment I also look into my eyes and realize, there is no gender for how someone's pupils should look.

And hey, they're not so bad either.

Blue oceans, arised with a black sanded exterior, coral reef streaks adorn them.

How can I hate my eyes? When they are so telling of the pain I have shed from them?

How can i hate my eyes? When they have seen me through every stage of my life.

How can I hate them? How can I hate them? How can i hate them??...

How can I hate myself?

When I look at myself through pupils I have come to love?

Upon the fresh summers day, finding myself in a yard I desperately yearn in education to mow and upkeep in feeble attempt to connect to my masculinity, as I stand there, clutching the mower handles, I feel the gaze of my mammaw on me....the back of my head, my back, my arms....how she judges me because I am her "granddaughter", it dawns on me that no matter what I do, say, feel, prove, hate, love, loathe, cry, or smile....I will always be hated upon for simply existing.

But, then i look up at the beating sun, so rough, so unforgiving, he watches us all...and I wonder, how many of my ancestors stared at the same ball of burning fire in the sky, and asked for mercy? For forgiveness?

How many of them worked so hard under the blistering heat? Wondering why it's so wrong they are different from the latter?

How many of them Had longer hair than everyone else?

Or shorter?

had a skin imperfection?

How many of them pondered the same idea that they were so secluded from others?

How many stared up at the same sun, amongst hard work that never rests, and asked themselves the same question?

And, oddly, Suddenly, my world didn't feel so lonely anymore..

"I" soon morphed into "We". And my problems suddenly didnt feel so big anymore.

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This poem I made to help channel my feelings with my dysphoria into words somehow, and it was very intresting right see where it went because I just said random words that came to mind. I dedicated it to Lugh, a god I associate with the sun.