I’m not a very good one, in my eyes, but I think I’m doing a good enough job remembering my lines and where to stand and how to take the bow at the end of the show with a huge smile on my face. Sometimes it’s real, that smile coming from a special place in my heart. And most other times it’s forced and pretend just as the character I make believe I am.
Most people enjoy it. The happy, positive, overwhelmingly supportive Myke who dishes our affirmations and love. All of which is in me, thus the only way I can provide this for viewing pleasure.
It’s what happens when the curtain closes that many people I know and those nondescript faces in the back, don’t know, that in most cases I don’t perform under the stage lights.
That I’m sad. Unbearably sad. Overwhelmingly so. So much so that I have to drag myself out of bed in order to put on my costume to perform this days act.
It’s a blessing really to continuously be able to get up on that stage, take a deep breath and get my mask just right, the smile noticeably large so to distract from the cracks forming at the edges from the deep sadness and pain. All of course before the curtain opens.
I should go though, I gotta get myself together cuz the next scene is about to start and the curtain is about to open.
Here’s to another performance.
I remember the days when it wasn’t real.
I remember the days when I didn’t think
it was Real;
That I could walk down streets and
pretend I was safe.
Even though I definitely could have been safe.
Safety wasn’t second guessed.
I could walk freely and rest.
I could laugh at the carefree nature of the world.
It didn’t matter that I am boy
and the world saw me as a girl.
Only thing mattered was the laughter
curling into my cheeks,
the light in my eyes
Unphased by truths I never personally seen.
But that time was when I was a baby.
Soon as my brain grew conscious,
I don’t walk down streets the same,
Afraid of being
Even though boys didn’t get it “as bad.”
But I was a girl in the eyes
of men more knowing than me.
Momma taught me, “Can’t Trust men
They’ll take advantage of [me].”
So I grew up not knowing how to trust men.
One day not knowing how to trust me.
Compromised in My Dreams;
By a perspective on repeat.
And now where does that leave me?
Where does it leave the women
I’ve known and seen
Violated under all means?
Where does leave the boy who’s
told he has a girl’s body?
How do I learn to trust masculinity
When its always been shaped as a threat to me?
The playdo’s harden over years
charred under the degrees of inferno
and nobody even knows.
Shit, I didn’t even know
till realizations hit me that even
him trying to build intimacy is
Can’t trust the man laying next to me.
Haven’t trusted the man standing next to me.
What is trust for the man trying to support me?
What does it mean to trust any man?
My Body; raped
My Mind; fucked
My Heart; touched inappropriately
I sit here replaying the history
how it’s all Engrained so Deep.
Where at the core,
I’m having trouble trusting any man;
How To Make Sense Of The Michael Dunn Verdict BY NICOLE FLATOW
A Florida jury could not reach a verdict on the most serious charge facing Michael Dunn, a first degree murder charge for the fatal shooting of 17-year-old Jordan Davis after a dispute over loud music at a Jacksonville convenience store. Nevertheless, Dunn is all but certain to face a lengthy prison sentence as he was convicted on three counts of attempted second degree murder — one for each of three of Dunn’s friends who were also in the line of fire as Dunn fired ten rounds into their sport utility vehicle.