|Most successful deviation.|
New FriendOn a cloudy afternoon, I was walking across the Forum Woods of the Deviantart Realm, finding my way back to the Thumbshare Fountain, a mystical place that holds the power to turn around one's luck and reputation. If one tosses some of their most beautiful gems into the fountain, they often get them back even more gorgeous, adorned by the magic-imbued wishes and blessings of the people of Deviantart.New Friend by Hadarniel
I spent quite some time in there, as usual, sharing my jewels and other merchandise with the magical fountain, hoping to get some joyous vibes that would make me forget the dangerous quest I would be embarking on soon. Suddenly, I remembered the map of Deviantart I had in my satchel, and decided to take it out, hoping that it would give me somewhere else to go soothe myself. I quickly spotted my location in the Forum Woods, and immediately let my finger drift off in any direction; that would determine my future destination. Strangely enough, my hand moved in the direction of t
I’ve never liked kids.
They make me weary.
They make me wonder where we keep our beasts.
I wonder what it is they dream.
I wonder what they think it’s like to die.
All my characters are a little queer.
Everyone knows how to be queer.
Everyone puts on a show, especially the kids.
It’ll be that way until we die.
Hell, you know oddity doesn’t end for the weary.
I want to draw the way we dream.
There are spaces in our minds that only know of beasts.
(You know they really love the queers.)
We tend to lurch into the nightmares they make of our dreams.
No one ever stops being a kid.
Imagine a boy who never stopped being weary.
He’ll take the aches to his death.
He’s spent his whole life preparing to die.
“This way,” he says, “all I do is dance with beasts.”
Wild rumpus keeps the body weary.
I never told my parents I was queer.
I’d known since I was a kid.
Boys kept finding their way into my dreams.
Never had such sweet dreams.
I often think about what we’ll miss the most when we die.
I’ve raised a lot of kids.
We’re all in love with the same beasts.
Family knows little blood for the queers.
We only share in each other’s bony weariness.
I am the boy who is always weary.
In the end, what stops us from writing down our dreams?
What do we pass on to the young queers?
What should we leave behind when we die?
And how about those terrible beasts?
Will they look like our kids?
Tonight, the kids will sleep when they are weary.
They will wrestle ravenous beasts out of their dreams.
They will know that everything dies a little bit queer.
|A sestina inspired by a chat with Alexis Pauline, author of blackfeminismlives.tumblr.com|