flipping through troves of memories,
my grandma has the same smile
she had 50 years ago,
all too perfect and proper,
but maybe a bit too toothy.
my hands undo knots in old projects,
and my mind looks up obituaries and
and she isn't dead yet,
so i cry,
and i mourn the child she killed.
my brother talks to a phone late at night,
someone's on the other end
and she doesn't love him anymore,
and really, i shouldn't care
but i kinda thought that she was neat.
she had a nice dog, at least.
my mother scrolls through old videos.
the ones i took of her and him,
when i knew that neither police nor god
could save us now.
humanity is a weird thing because
we aren't really human,
but my hands type words
and my brother thinks he's loved,
and my grandma still smiles,
and my mother still has hope in justice,
and if that is not innately human,
then i would tell that nothing may be.
-icarus
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an idiots guide to life; how to survive the badlands of wyoming
شِعرthe slightly deranged ramblings of a teenage trans guy living in wyoming there's no overarching theme but there sure is a lot of dogs, horses, and god(s) . i do not know what i am talking about 97% of the time mostly posted chronologically in order...
