Analysis of Dear Amy

I am too broken for a society who needs my life centered on production              
And yet not broken enough to earn concern of the trauma-hungry masses

Who cannot see me if not to consume me.

I am too gay for a world built to spit out tidy little binary, nuclear families.
And yet not gay enough to have suffered the right to proudly queer

The way I always have.

I am too bad a mother to be the sun, moon, and stars I am expected to be for my child
And too good a mother to fall to the ground, trembling and spent

Though my mind groans {screams} in tired agony.

I am too fat to love my body, or feel comfortable in my clothes
And too skinny to "really understand fatphobia"

Though I have been washed in it until it's standards echo as my own.

I am too sick to live life juggling
This ever growing number of glass balls (with contents kept so cleanly isolated)
And sick enough to see that these balls I am to juggle in sharp disctinction from each other

Are killing me...

So where do I sit?
Not on one side
Or on the other

Too functional to have my disfunction supported.
And too disfunctional to thrive without support.

So brick by brick I must build a bridge.
My blood and tears,
The mortar between each stone I pluck

From this foundation I did not lay.

The foundation that built a world where-in
We, as we are, cannot ever be enough.

A world which feasts on pain and hunger,
And dances around the flames of my self loathing. {Dances eagerly in the flames of my self loathing}

And maybe... Hopefully...
By the time my blood is spent
And my tears have dried

This bridge will lay a path that takes us, not here... Or there...
But to each space inbetween.

Where simply being,
Is finally enough.

Because we *are* enough.