James Stevison
Bio
I'm James, I'm 18, and I'm a transgender wiccan poet/theatre major.
Stories (6/0)
Do Not Open
Hi, I'm James. At least, that's what I want to say. But instead my mouth forms different words, ones that force their way between my teeth, much like the way I force myself out of bed in the morning. But since we're talking about mornings, let me tell you about mine. These summer dresses and cute flats never quite fit. Eating my breakfast when I wish I could be eating the pain and dysphoria I face everyday, wishing they would disappear as quickly as my cereal does.
By James Stevison7 years ago in Poets
Sleep
I like watching you sleep. Not because it makes me happy, but because I know, that at least for now, you are free. Free from the pain and devastation of our daily lives. Free from the poverty and the disease. Free from the pride and the deceit. Free from the poison and the death. Because I know, that at least for now, you are free. Free to feel passion and determination. Free to feel peace and delight. I like watching you sleep because I can be sure, that at least for now, you are utterly free.
By James Stevison7 years ago in Poets
Ground
Being with her was like walking barefoot on a gravel road. The rocks and bumps poke the bottom of my feet and lead me to walk carefully and lightly with every step. Doing my best to avoid the bigger bumps, bearing the pain of the smaller ones. But then, I found the sidewalk. I thought, this will be better, softer, flatter, more stable. I was able to walk normally, but only for a short time before the cracks began to trip me up, and the hot concrete began to burn. Then I started to walk quicker, in hopes that the faster my steps the less it would burn. But instead i was left with burns and scrapes on my feet from running on the concrete. I thought to myself, will i ever find something sturdy to plant myself on? Will i ever find my ground? And then the sidewalk ended, the road was a dead end, and all that was left was grass, wet with dew. I stepped into it, and the grass healed all the pain the road and sidewalk had caused. The soft blades of green grass gave my feet a thousand kisses. The dew eased the burns and cleaned the scrapes. And I'd found my ground.
By James Stevison7 years ago in Poets