All posts by transscribed


from this moment forward,

I do not wish to be seen

in the eyes of desire

or through a mirror,

I am invisible.

in my phantom transition

I also vow to be mute.

you cannot hear me,

even when I whisper

when you hold your face close to mine

my voice will not be there

and no, you cannot touch me.

I am ineffable,

every part of my being is off limits

to you, whoever you may be

or will be.

I am without

innately non, un, all forms of other.

I was but will not be

I will not will not be

I will to unwill myself

in every space that is there.

every place that is around me

is now without me.

I won’t. I am not. I am

removed and now I remove I.

read these words in reverse

so that what you read is not

and is no longer.

vow to me that this will

not be seen

vow to not read this aloud.

vow to unsee this in any way

that you can

you must because

I cannot.



how do you express the feeling
when you lose something
while the sun sets around you,
without explaining every moment?

i see freedom around me
as a rabbit breaches the forests edge
and a child runs past his parents for the first time

you say,
“it’s like holding onto a lottery ticket in a windstorm”
and I write it down,
in search of freedom


I’m thankful for days when people say things like,
“open your window if you need fresh air”

It’s not often that I remember the wind
more commonly, I remember all the reasons
that make me want to die
but in seasons, I’m offered an out
to be covered yellow by pollen
and transform into my favorite thing
a color wrapped in light,
speckled in a dreamscape,
passing through a recovered memory

sorry to disturb your solitude

to a man who sees his target
through a lens
solitude may look like the tiny
opening of a flower after it rains,
a nearly invisible owl at noon

today it looked like a girl
taken by a book and lost
in the ever revolving movement
of a life outside of a lens

and when he apologized
for directing his focus away from me,
while near me,
I told him I was leaving anyways
because I am always leaving

and when the path I left on
became clouded and skewed,
I cleaned the lenses
that I look through everyday
but a target never appeared

eating is hard sometimes

this morning I woke up and I ate coffee

but that wasn’t really food so I ate

three small potatoes.

I drove on a long highway

and thought about eating but I didn’t.

then I went home and I ate

an entire order of breadsticks

which sounds very enjoyable but it wasn’t

because I thought about every single breadstick

while I ate.

not in a cherishing sort of way but in a dreading sort of way

and I thought about the bread inside of my body

and I quickly thought about how happy I was to not be gluten free

and then I thought for a long time about my dad

and how he would comment on my weight

when I would help myself to seconds

and I thought about when I stopped helping myself to seconds

because I didn’t want my weight to be commented on anymore

then I thought about when I was on Zoloft

and how I didn’t eat anything for three days except for an apple.

I had never enjoyed food so much in my life

I had never hated food so much in my life

Inner Tubes

the lake my parents live on

looks like the accumulation

of their neighbors dip spit.

a moat surrounding John Deere

tractors, pickup trucks,

lawn signs that read “Thank You Jesus”.

sewage run off carrying

McDonald’s bags and NRA bumper stickers.


small wooded islands are interspaced

with the sounds of frogs and Fox News

playing on televisions.

devout naysayers huddle on boats,

sharing stories of one-

sided celebrations with right-

winged viewpoints.


if you pray hard enough, drowning

victims will be saved and fish will be caught.

bread will be broken

with those who float

above the deep subaqueous silence.



College Hill

Chryste says we are our own planets

inside of a dive bar,

pulling men into our gravitational fields.

but I feel like an astronaut,

invisibly free falling

on the fringes of every celestial body.

I lock eyes with a trail of comets,

ensorcell a protostar,

blush in the presence of a red giant.

in the slow descent,

my beer boils,

forming tiny crystals

that encircle my head.

cosmic rays permanently toxify my body

through string lights and neon signs.


I am illumined

or maybe I’m drunk.