This Body of Death

I could power an entire city. Or perhaps start a nuclear fusion reaction and give birth to a star. The amount of energy I’ve been exerting these past five years and continue to exert each day in order to fool the world into thinking I am what you see, into thinking that I’m doing okay, into thinking that I’m smiling on the inside as well as on the outside—I could charge a handsome fee to the energy companies.

I inhabit this body. Lug it around like dead weight. And scream, “Who will deliver me from this body of death?!” But my cries fall on deaf ears. Because I’ve been so good at fooling the world.

The days of looking across the great chasm of the gender binary and feeling as though I were a soldier given to wear the wrong uniform, longing to be returned home, welcomed and recognized by my own people, but afraid I’d be shot dead by my very own people because of the wrong uniform—are soon drawing to a close.

Because Love expressed Love’s Divine Self in my friends who now struggle to understand, as I once had to. Who like me, cannot let go—for the bonds of friendship; for the bonds of Love.

“Who will deliver me from this body of death?”

Those who cannot let go for the bonds that tie us together.

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