Crucify me, I don’t care.

don’t care what you think

opinions are not facts in fact, opinions are made of rumors, lies—half truths weaponized

you are missing parts of the story, including what i have seen and felt and heard and thought and done; the ways

i /\m: healed
i manage the change and what i can control

while you spin a web to contain my essence and drain my energy;

you feed on me what you cannot create in you

i own the key to my soul

a copy is not original

no two the same and yet

we reflect

hell bound queer solo polyamorous asexual woman tattooed divorced estranged aborted a seed to save me raped of consent and of religious freedom PTSD

conquerors unwelcome;

love is free
generated inside of me and i have all i need

what you give i will receive but your love doesn’t complete me

fight first fawn apology freeze to breathe collect rest for flight

i don’t care what you think
i release the need to please

wearing my open heart on my sleeve

a testament of faith, witness my strength

i don’t need your god

i /\m: my own

i don’t care what you think

of me
i will live what i believe

love is all we need to stop the bleed

I throw myself on the sword of contradiction and I do not die. Secrets revealed cauterize the wound. The truth will set you free, or so we say. The truth has made me an island with limited passageway.

The wisest words from the mouth of a man 10 years less in age. “I don’t care.”

Not to care sounded harsh on the ear and bitter on the tongue. Selfishness centered, implied.

selfish doesn’t matter

i /\m: the center

You don’t have to understand me to love me,

and i wish you’d try.

as he turns his back and walks away, she affirms his reaction. “when he says he doesn’t understand you, he really doesn’t.”

of her own inability to listen, even to words on a page. “it’s too difficult to read what you write.”

her tears do not wash away his sins.

misunderstandings linger in the air; it is too much life to pretend doesn’t exist because they do not consent to engage in hard conversations where they might experience “bad feelings”.

what of the bad feelings i experience? must i be alone with them? i am a ghost.

I grew up confessing my sins at a church altar, begging forgiveness with other members of the sect. I did not speak them directly to a person, but I did speak them out loud to Godman in the sky so those around me could hear if Godman blessed my tongues with the holy language that proves salvation. People don’t forget as easily as someone who isn’t real, the sins you are vocally repenting from. Those sins become identity; with every mistake, you will be reminded because you outed yourself in the practice of repentance, another step in becoming saved. Our sins branded us. I was exposed to collective grief of suffering imposed;

die daily, confess and be changed!

Adults’ writhing bodies, loose tongues nonsensical, exhaustive wailing; we could only dance with the holy spirit,

there is joy in this pain!

I spar with myself. We are wrong, and we have the right answer, but we cannot forget our wrongness. I was born into sin, and I am a special one, born into the “truth”. Being human is traumatic, sinful; and I cannot be anything other than human. Is life a losing game? The Jesus character proved that living by your own compass will get you killed. His death is worshiped, his followers addicted to losing their lives, consent to murder. Do not kill, a commandment ignored.

The hand painted black jean jumpsuit is a self-portrait.

White lines cut through the dark representing light, and lines of notebook paper. I stream my consciousness in color.

It has taken until my 40s to internalize not caring what others think. I lay hypervigilance on the altar, beside external perceptions, assumptions, interpretations and expectations. The anxiety lessens. I begin to highlight in me what gives another pause. I have nothing to hide when I am not pretending to be someone else. I cannot concern myself with ideals; I am only scared of heights when on a pedestal.

Wearing the jumpsuit in public draws others to me. I am commended for my bravery, uplifted in my artistry, and separated. You love me until the words become clear. The expression haunts, and that is the point. We cannot get away from ourselves, so I choose to run toward myself because I am with me all the time.

when i /\m: with me
i /\m: saved

So no, I don’t care what you think,

even if it kills me like it did that prophet.