What a gift to be born. What a curse to realize what was born. Somewhere under all this— beneath the wrong face, the lying reflection, the body that doesn’t match— there’s still a heart. Beaten shut. Rusted closed. But wanting to sing anyway. Ugly. Not the soft kind people pity. The kind that makes them look away. Made with the off-hand. The mistake in the divine assembly line. All the beautiful music— love songs, promises whispered in the dark, the sweet gentle things— none of it ever landed here. None of it was ever meant for creatures like this. So take the scraps. Adorn in trash and glitter. Make something that shines out of what was thrown away. If nobody will love this, then give up on being loved. Don’t look back. Swallow the night. Become the thing that attacks. A wolf dressed in sequins and rot. The world is bizarre anyway. Might as well be the strangest thing in it. Maybe it’s not me that’s broken. Maybe it’s the world. Or maybe we’re both shattered and there’s no way to tell the difference anymore. Either way— living the same as everyone else was never an option. Fake the words. Escape into performance. Smile while the acid eats through everything putrid about this self.

Hold the bruises close. They’re proof something touched here. Loneliness is fuel for the quiet ones. The shamed ones. The ones who learned early that wanting is dangerous and being wanted is impossible. Close the eyes. Stay away, stay away. But somewhere in the back of the creature’s mind— a tiny desperate hope: Maybe God’s left-handed too. Maybe there’s a place for the mistakes. Maybe the off-hand creations get their own corner of existence where wrong becomes right just by virtue of surviving. Nobody is exactly what they seem. Not a single soul. The flowers bloom in mud. The creature shines in darkness. The world is pretty. Always has been. Even for the ones who don’t belong in it. Especially for them. Because if something this broken can still catch the light— can still glitter— can still *be*— Then maybe broken is just another word for alive. So shine. Not because it’s beautiful. Not because anyone’s watching. Shine because refusing to disappear is the only rebellion left. The world is bizarre. So be the strangest thing in it. And keep shining anyway.

— Made with the off-hand —

#writeing #queerwriteing