Sometimes

It feels so strange to say my government name

It is a similar feeling to when you see a language you know, written, in a mirror

My therapist and I have been trying to name myself when I don’t know what it feels like to be good

I don’t want to use my old name, because although he is dead, he wasn’t wrong

He was okay in the same way that animals are saved by conservation

When I transitioned, I became aware of dissonance in content and container

I used to be estranged from my body, but only because we were growing apart

How else is it possible to interact with someone who ran away with yourself when you are still here

I did not understand having an opinion because there was such distance between me and experience that it didn’t come full circle

I am in a way now that becoming happens when I see myself

But it’s not like he went away, he came along and enjoyed giving commentary

I mean, now he’s dead, but for a while there

He made my stomach ache for what he thought so certain, but then I would remember he was just along for longing’s sake

Since he is gone, he cannot speak, but I still will see him out from under my bangs and he scares me

He liked to march and do things that remind him of taking off his face

But now I remember, since he wasn’t there to begin with, I am a response who doesn’t want a last word on the matter

Like a compliment may be as much objective as also the speaker’s opinion

Where it is possible to commit without selling the bit along with my means of sticking to it