A poem Cracks in the Sky it's snowing I can just make out skeletal hands, stretching away from naked bodies a patina of dark cracks cascading across the grays and whites of the sky so uniform in it's banal chaos until I grab my glasses bare branches, swaddled in clean, soft, new snow, reach outward and upward divested their autumnal finery, yet still holding the promise of new life, maybe In a new year they're too separate from the unyielding grey to be the cracks in the facade I saw moments before the sky didn't change same grey white uniformity, encompassing my world threatening in unequal measures, danger, beauty, and futility the clarity isn't bad there is honest joy to the dance of flakes, falling from their grey white prison, movement, energy, individuality for a time all too soon they will rest among their fallen sisters I like to imagine it's a comforting rest, well deserved, well earned it's always there the fear that each flake is allowed to dance, to celebrate her freedom for but a short while, before she joins her sisters in the suffocating blanket across the land She may find joy in her fall, but her landing, her corpse, those of her uncounted sisters, all subsumed by the collective 'snow' a grey white downy jacket of corpses, all so the ground might resemble their once prison. I miss the cracks in the sky Bluesky Logo Phenn.gay Twitch and YouTube logos PhennofLore

Cracks in the Sky

Last year, I spent the holidays trying to connect with my partners. We'd been having issues since a kink scene in June where, while pretty deep in pup space, I was rather suddenly rejected and abandoned.

Anxiety

Fuck. I’m not really ready to talk about this one, but I should anyway.

I said in the To Be…What?’s write up that I wrote it, Joy, and one of tomorrow’s poems simultaneously and that they were the first three I wrote intentionally using the number sequence I built this little project around, but they weren’t the first poems written. That dubious honor goes to Anxiety here.

Red Flags, So Many Red Flags

Fuck, I love being a trans woman on the internet in Musk's America.

Have you ever heard of the Lemkin Institute for Genocide Prevention? Were I a gambling woman, I'd bet you either haven't or you've seen a post about one of their alerts and went, "...yeah of course that's a genocide."

It Is A Truth Universally Acknowledged (By Trannies)

It Is A Truth Universally Acknowledged (By Trannies)

It is a truth universally acknowledged (by trannies) that a newly hatched trans girl will be in need of some fucking affirmations.

When one's gender progression involves becoming what they were denied for so long, the most common step is, unfortunately, to jump right into the shape society has shown them women ideally occupy. Rather than parsing out what shape works best for the individual girl.

Prophecy or System

There's a non-zero chance I read too much this weekend.

Maybe that's the wrong way of framing it.

This last week was horrible. If you're trans or a member of any of the other groups conservatives are scapegoating you know what I mean, and for the rest of you... Well, you're reading my work, so you're probably "aware" even if you can't ever walk a mile in our shoes, not really anyway. But last week also included major personal strife as well.

To Shame or Not?

I'd like to think we've all experienced this; you do something and the second anyone else sees and doesn't love it immediately, you start questioning if it was good, or even worth the time and effort. There's almost a desire to delete or unmake it.

How?

How?

My brain is evil.

Ok, that’s maybe a bit harsh, and every mental health professional will tell you to avoid self deprecation even in jest as it still reinforces negative self perception. But, frankly, most of them don’t live with BPD.