A child of Mnemosyne told me recently,
“the man I used to be is dead, He overdosed on estradiol.”
I thought about it a lot last night. Poetic truth.
Neither of us were ever truly men, but we lived the role.

I cannot speak for them farther,
I was a man worth despising.
I'm trying to become a person worth following.
I want to be worthy of the respect I am offered.

This project was started as a journal of sorts,
Yet I edit out things that are worth mentioning.
I've succumb to pretense and offered only partial truths.
Perhaps it's time to remedy this.

My mind is fragmented, segmented, partitioned
I slip into roles easily, different aspects of myself.
They are all me, of course, but not the same me.
They hold space for personal growth to span the gap.
I fear fragmenting further.

One of the main results of therapy for me,
Was the ability to self harm in much more inventive ways.
From logic traps, to hypnokink, to crowdsourcing trauma.
Like "Other people", I am rather efficient at self-torture.
I mutilate myself in slow motion.

In the quiet space behind my heart,
I know I'm meant to be a monster of form.
That Fang, Claw, and Scale would suit me best.
Dragon-kin is a label that fits snugly, despite my protests.
I was never meant to be human.

A devil with chains more visible echoes to me, my words:
"Remember, We are Glory."
We need no Memento Mori, we are aware of our limits.
We could dance in blood and ash 'til we are called home.
I wonder if our chains would tangle.