Claws in your back

Book on late-soviet history and the shift away from constative meaning towards pure symbol//knitting after a six-year reprieve//ocean of blue yarn flooding my lap//fingers taking each stitch for what it is//no metaphor//please god no metaphor//watching Julien Baker sing in front of an orchestra//the orchestra roaring and moaning//good god when you gonna call it off//and am I trans enough//maybe it’s all gonna turn out alright//I’d love to imagine a world where it does//I have to imagine a world where it does//I joked to a friend that my antipsychotics are poison//but they have saved my life//I mean I would be dead without them//I mean I would have killed myself without them//I mean I am a coward//a dirty lowdown coward//and my friends are so brave//and I am running//running//running away//in the book on late-soviet history I learn that eternity is not forever//nothing is forever//empires end//this one will too//in the meantime I call my sister//ask for her opinion as a public health professional//will they take my vraylar//please god no metaphor//Julien looks static//but she sings like my heart is drowning//like my antipsychotics are gone//like my options are dwindling//like I put off top surgery for too long//erase me at your own risk//I am the record of my own existence//and I will record everything.