The Forest in His Eyes

We Lift Each Other

I sing, of all the boys I loved, no names, no pronouns. I don't sing of love, or heartbreak. My words lie somewhere inbetween. My voice cracks, the words coming out hoarse and pitchy. Nothing about my lyrics, the melody, the entire freaking song makes sense. It doesn't follow a pretty arc, hitting all the beats you expect. It's a goddamn trainwreck.

And still, they scream for me, shout my name and jump to the discordant sounds. There must be something salvageable in this shitty song slapped together from rambling two-am brain farts and chaotic melding of sounds and beats. I was expecting this to bomb. I almost didn't go out there. And here I stand.

I reused riffs and loops. The breakdown didn't follow any order, didn't even feel good. I threw a drop in there and Frankenstein'd (J-Dog would be proud of me for that one) some shit together. Can't even say I hoped for the best. I played it over and over, thrashing my head, dissonant music comprised of fractured moods. If swear words had a sound, I put them in here. It wasn't meant to be anything, nothing I would use, anyway.

And then I kept thinking back to those long afternoons cooped up in the music room, head thrashing, arm-flailing, voiceless screaming, hair dripping sweat... I felt like a rock god, even if the music isn't rock, doesn't fit easily into any one genre. I made it in moments of pure vulnerability, but also of a compulsion to put thoughts, feelings... memories to music. The lyrics don't even matter. There are only a few scattered lines in there. Not even worth sharing. They're nothing words. Yet they fit.

I think... This song is a fuck you. To everyone, everything that pisses me off and makes me feel lesser. For being queer. Overweight. Not good enough. For making me scared to even acknowledge how I feel, to talk about my queerness, so I don't feel so alone. It's a statement to the world that I feel it all but I will scream back and I will make music to a world that makes no freaking sense. Music is my forest, full of unknowns, but it hears my cries, echoes them, carries my frustrations, desires, dead hopes, and all my worst inhibitions and thoughts through a jungle of madness and noise.

I literally say fuck about five times in this song. The rage from deep within, voice found because of Henry. And that voice hates what he did. That he left me behind, a scared, screwed-up kid who was figuring shit out and still hopelessly lost. Who ran away from home to chase his dreams and realised that the world doesn't get any easier. There are nice, decent people, but they aren't enough.

Oscar is nice, and decent. Fuck him. Fuck Nick and—and while we're at it, every hot guy, every well-meaning asshole who thinks they know what I'm going through, that leave me feeling all flustered and messed up inside.

Basically... I have a lot of anger and scary-confusing emotions to vent. They're not straightforward or pretty. That's why I'm sharing this song now, singing the off-key, crappy lyrics that only an eight-year-old would think are smart. I could have gone safe but I needed this. Needed my soul's notes laid bare. They could have hated it. Probably should have.

I don't care. Not now, not anymore. It's out and I'm that same head-thrashing, arm-flailing, sweat-drenched kid making pure insanity alone in a music room, in a school on a freaking mountain—in Canada!

If nothing makes sense, why should my song? My song is a reflection of my soul, in this moment, honest, raw... It's not easy. They're not supposed to get it because... I don't.

I guess my energy is infectious. That something here resonates. I know I'm feeling euphoric up here, belting out inane bullshit, the backing music an absolute collision of frenzied loops and hard phrases. There's no chorus here, no hummable melody. It's just emotion, raw and unfiltered. And they love it. I love it.

I never want this night to end.

***

Nothing sounds right. I've stared at my phone screen for like ten minutes now, hating every thought that pops into my head. The green room is noisy, that high you get from being up there lingering in the air. Everyone was all congratulations and patting me on the back. I shoved my way through them, found my way to a corner, curled myself up and all I wanted to do was text Oscar and tell him how stupid I've been and that I just want things to be like they were. That high left me quick. I just think... I needed to say something. So he doesn't think I'm a complete douche. Doubtful, but still... Shit, that's the thing. Not sure what I want and if I'll still want it tomorrow, when my head's clearer and I'm not riding this euphoria for all its worth.