Latest Posts by dreamgazerswritingblog - Page 3

Awoken

I never remember to brush my teeth

Until im back on the chair again

I cannot retreat under bright florescent light

Gingivitus

Invites the worst thoughts in me

Pulling decay from me

Sawtooth away

Surgical like a syringe

Blood is drawn

Steel spider

Crawling deeper in my mouth

Bated breath for viscous liquid

I cant swallow

Pain awakens me to my mortality

A specimen in a jar

Waiting to die but im already dead

Like roadkill in a jar

Un

Like my hearts beating there

I put my hands to my ears

In silent noise

The rumble of muscle

My eyes dialate

My mouth is dry

Like im going to die

I wait in anticipation of silence

To wash over a million hearbeats

I close my eyes

But fades of blue so faint, so fucking faint as nothing

Is still something

Im my meditation of death

Death illudes me

And i will never see her coming.

What is love?

Shut the fuck up

You silly poet

I do not need to yearn for love

Love is nothing

Instead I lie with my lover

I fart

He tells me its okay

Then he farts

Life is at peace

Life is perfect

Experimental Theater

Step one:

Pink, like perfume, is lightly applied. You may have a glint in your eye and see glitter everywhere. This is normal but you should still be concerned.

Step two:

It is very soft, like a cat you want to pet it constantly. This is normal and not bizzare, but it maybe wizard of you to tell everybody how you feel. That part is optional

Step three:

Stare into a mirror. Mirrors on top of mirrors please, so you let the green out. You can't really see the pink without a bit of green.

Step four:

With the frog in front of you, apply makeup liberally. That means addressing him or her with correct pronouns. If your frog uses any other genders, skip this step.

Step five:

Vore the frog. Do not hesitate, even if it tries to bargain with you. It is testing you. Alternativley if you have a bachelors in Biochemistry you may kiss the frog instead, but please ask permission first.

Step six:

Yell out your lungs in public. Exhume the frog from you. Congradulations on your Experimental Theater!

Transistince

Transistence is the resistence

Against the resistence to be trans

From outside and in my head

"Where the psychological

Becomes social"

As an old English professor used to say...

Are my layers just cake?

Vaccous calories of air and sugar?

Why do I yearn

To be a tasty pink cloud?

Dissappearing onto the horizon

Where a sunset masks the line between sky

And mountain

Psychological sky

And societal mountains

Buildings conceal the clouds

Light drowns out the stars

In total darkness

Vhsige

Waves, like eye worms float in my field of view, fixed on a point. The point is the image of a woman, every strand of hair its own entity of woman. Brushed perfectly, my feelings brushed perfectly, as I lie in bed I watch her hair fall over me, I feel it in my sleep when I dream and a million fingers grace my cheeks. Her gentle curve is an image, like an image on a curved screen so smooth it isnt real. Im depressed again. I do not love the woman but the lines, the static, the electricity between us. If i touched her she would shock me, make my heart stop beating. I don't know who she is and I'm afraid to find out. I want her image, to be her image, and let the humanity left slip away. Perhaps you may feel it one day on our tape, when you play the tape. When you hold a finger over the TV screen and feel that familiar fuzz you had forgotton. A memory you can't quite reach? That is my hand reaching out to touch yours, but never reaching.

Poetry talk: Lesbian never born

I thought id speak about my poem "lesbian never born", or rather the feelings that inspired it. Theres a lot of markers for my transition into a woman but it really feels like it begins on July 2023 when I started hormone replacement therapy. Since then I've changed a lot physically, but mentally I still carry a burden of being a man for 23 years of my life, and the shame instilled in me for my s3xual cravings. Anyone who becomes fixated on p***ography can probably tell you that shame becomes a part of the desire, a part of how you identify yourself. For me that shame is the shame of "he", the shame men often carry. It conflicts with the "she" that i feel i am, and cuts me off from woman, hence the cut of "she" into "he" in the poem. The metaphor of sifting sand is in part my recent fascination of the beach and a memory I have of the beach at Cape Cod (although I remember those beaches being more rocky in reality). I wanted something to capture that ethereal feeling of softness that woman seem to hold to me, and sand felt appropriate. Wind I often use in tandem with love, love that is sometimes cold, sometimes cool. Love for me is tinged with nostalgia, as is wind blowing through branches and sakara flowers. Revolutionary Girl has been a strange fixation for my yearning to be on some level a lesbian, my thoughts are blurred and the words arent really there, which is why i identify so much with the AMV for the anime on Youtube with the song "Winner Takes it All". It is the centerpiece of my poem as nostalgia is a huge crux of who i am, my life is repetitive as is my poetry. Or perhaps history doesn't repeat itself, but rhyme.

A Lesbian never born

So much for my love, i was cut off into

He cant be the she he wants to be

Estrogen gave him breasts, but not her

Chests full of milk and love soft soft All he wanted was to forget he was ever

Never a woman. He cries because he cant

Tell you all his male secrets. He loves

Every wave of femininity, that idea of

Sapphic love is fleeting sand he

Causes himself so much pain, he is so

Angry at what he was born to be, his

P**** envies the idea of being she, but

Eventually she might come through

Love Wind

I'm so afraid. I can hardly stand. My legs shiver, like im gonna pee blood. But nothing comes out, not even anything. The meds are surpressing what they are supposed to, i am not doing okay but im doing fine.

Im free.

Free to the world and to the winds of love, I fucking hate wearing underwear when i wear a dress. I fucking hate adult clothes, id rather have a blanket or a robe. I'd rather you just not look at me at all if you dont like me. I want you to worship me, and in turn ill give you everything i have left. Id kiss you but my mouth is so dry, spironolactone. Im spirling, i want to be null, i want you to act like you cant live without me and take me without me having to ask.

Id tell you I love you but im tone deaf, I cant hear my own thoughts over the depression and sadness. Just fuck it out of me. Make me regret taking you in my mouth. Make me atone for my sins and I'll call you daddy, because your my only daddy problem.

Black Tape

I saw her in my favorite film, locked away in locks of black tape, tied and spun unspun, she comes undone and back again.

She is a VHS tape, or the film on that tape, or perhaps the reel on the wheel, perhaps her heart the mysterious motor as equally unknown to me as the human heart.

Maybe she's her eye on the screen, magnetic gaze on a magnetic image, the magnitute of all those pixels buzzes like an earthquake far away...

I seek her in my memory but my memorys go by too fast, im rewinding the tape. I wear her memory as she wears me with her look, undressing whatever it is that makes me me so that she can be me.

I must see her in my dreams but i forget. I wake up on a pile of black tape, sometimes wishing she could tie me up in it. Tie me in knots and spin her web till im but a mummy, ready to sleep forever and never forget my dreams again...

Wal Mart

Sterile non places, lights and rows lights and rows lights and rows, rowing down the lazy river. But everything is still, so still I shop. My cart a mimic on wheels, its maw enough to consume all. Chaos is concealed, soon it is congealed in my cart. It mimics me, im not much different the way i wheel around and eat and buy, i buy you, i eat you, i eat buy, i get by. Im checking out these words but I stopped caring or listening this poem making minimum change, pocket change i collect them, a penny for my thoughts. I swipe a card, you check me out, i check you out. Did i swipe it, did i shop lift? I wanna lift this whole fucking shop into the sun. But i come out of sterile light to a gray sky, and the sun is nowhere in sight.

Social Suicide

My life is worthless to you, small and insignificant yet you try so hard to extinguish me. I come out as a furry in high school you say:

Social Suicide

My heart sinks. Have I thrown everything away? Is it my fault I'm a furry? My fault I'm an outcast? My fault I'm autistic? My fault im depressed...its so silly, spoken aloud. My problems, clouds. Soft and dreamy, just a little less sun and im weak and weary...

Social Suicide

They are your words, not mine. So worried of others that you've already died. Maybe you are the one who has killed oneself to fit in? I had no friends then, but when will you have a true friend when your already dead?

Social Suicide

You were just trying to warn me, however misguided...why cant we be carefree...why must we die to belong, to belong inside our own homes, found families, find our own roads? Why can't i let you go? Why cant i commit?

Social Suicide.

Things I wish I knew as a teenager/young adult:

Its better to experiment with hair color, identities, etc now and regret it then staying in the closet

Your clique is out there (even if you're a wierdo furry like i was)

Other lonely depressed socially awkward people exist! Actually theres a lot of them!

Some people are into you like that! You just have to find them i promise i promise someone is out there!

Embrace your wierdness, double down even! The popular kids were probably never gonna jive with you anyway

Please take a moment to ask yourself if your trans, even if you think its impossible. It's totally okay either way but its an important question worth your time even if you decide you aren't (after all its good to understand your gender even if you are cisgender).

FEE6DA

Psycho drug

Synced up

Linked rush

Pink flush

Bought to fade away

Seasons go away

As i start to fade away

Words repeat and lose meaning

Bought to fade away

Seasons of Lain

Desaturate

Pink Peach Puff

In my memory decay

Like a shade, a screen

Buzzes

Your brain is sick. The meds you are on are not fixing it completley, even if they are helping. Good words and affirmations cant fix it all either. Art and sharing cannot fix it all either. Love and intimacy and sex cant fix it all either. All these little pieces have been enough to at least keep going. You hope everyday that things will get better, and that hasnt gone away forever either.

I like to take a step back occassionally and review things as logically as I can and ground myself. I'd encourage others to do the same.

Thoughts on Serial Experiments Lain

The show exists for me in a very nostalgic place. It makes me think about what the meaning of Nostalgia is to begin with. When I looked up the definition on Merrium Webster it was something to the effect of melancoly and overly sentimental longing for the past. More bizzare the American Heritage Foundation said it may be fatal in one of their definitons. Apparently it used to be an actual diagnosis. It's interesting to me to distinguish what i think a word means, and then learn what it really means through its history. Lain longs for a home in her humanity, though it never really existed at all. What was once an illusive almost supernatural world full of meaning lost its meaning as she drove herself deeper and deeper into the wired. Her connection to home grew more and more painful as reality dissappeared and she still hung onto what reality used to mean. It's a lot like how we today become dissallusioned with life as we spend all day online, constantly connected to dozens of platforms and screens of different kinds. The technology might look more obviously bizzare and disturbing in Lain with the tubes and wires and buzzing but our own world I think provokes the same emotion if you ground yourself to reality. The problem is i think searching for something that was never real. I think for a moment Lain let those walls down with that final hug.

Biography

MY ACCOUNT IS 18+ MINORS DNI

"This is not for you"

-Mark Z Danielewski, "House of Leaves"

My name is Dreamgazer, and im 26 years old. I use She/Her and They/Them pronouns. Im also cool with any feminine pronouns you might know. I'm a Non Binary Trans Woman. I'm on the AuDHD spectrum. I started this blog because I've been passionate about writing my whole life. I felt it was time to put my work out there again publically, and see what people think. This is your blanket trigger warning for my blog, because I will not individually label each post for potential triggers. Some topics I might write about may be controversial, but judging by the rest of Tumblr I'm actually fairly mild. Feel free to ask me anything or request poetry. You can private message me if your interested in commissioning me for editing or writing, but poems are free. If you've read this far and you like my writing please consider commenting or rebloging. Feedback is important for me to improve at my job, and is always appreciated. Thank you for reading. :)

-I disagree with Radqueers and Conservatives personally but im open to civil dialouge with either.

-This blog is a safe space for LGBTQIA+ and allies. I also have zero tolerance for hate against people for being cis/straight.

The Wired

Present Day.

Present time

To me differently

Where the past isnt so far away

Words like rock;

Fill out fossils of my soul.

Fill out the fossils

Of my fucking soul

Fossils like old computers.

Soul like the humm and buzz

Of a CRT TV.

Sounds like telephone poles.

Words carry

Over a billion telephone poles

Is my conciousness real

Or theirs?

Sad Girl Poetry

Love locked in a lisp,

Evil words on my lips.

Vocal stims, intrusive thoughts

A terrible gift.

Every mistake i remember

I repeat in my head.

It comes out;

Just like I did.

Again and again.

I speak.

I confess.

My secrets to the air,

Surrounded by people,

I put myself at risk.

Evil words unlocked,

Love lost on my lips...