you’re going to be something someday
dirty trash cans
i think of tasting smells a lot and i don’t like that about myself and i don’t keep a neat home so i’m thankful to have people in my life that do you’re doing a great job and i hope the filth growing at the bottom of your trash can thrives until you clean it
are we different if i wait twice as long as you to clean the problem in my trash can
these dirty trash cans are good at reminding you of the home you keep, the time spent throwing things away, and i haven’t cleaned one in years i just used a paper bag as a trash can last week but i was in the hospital so it was fitting, only temporary in execution but it felt like I was encountering *forever* and it’s vast vastness and the like.
i could’ve just looked in that paper bag harder i think (would I have seen something different each time? maybe something I didn’t see before? who knows / i’m sure of it) but they kept changing it out with other paper bags that looked just like it so it always felt like the days were repeating and i was just never going to get better but i did cause i’m here now
over six days i threw away empty water bottles, brown apple cores, papers using turtles as metaphors for living mindfully, papers using venn diagrams to help create a sense of self, small golf pencils dull at the tip that i never used to fill out the papers i threw away, peanut butter cracker wrappers, trail mix wrappers, mounds of nicotine gum and love notes from the patient a room down
his name was j and he was 38 v ill and v easily angered but he was nice to me and he would tell me that he was my shield and that he would protect me which i thought was cute and he would correct people when the nurses would misgender me which i thought was cool so we were pretty tight
but i caught him looking at me while touching himself on my fourth morning there while we were watching tv in the common area and i asked him what he was doing in disbelief, shock definitely, anger of course, and i walked away and i found a nurse and i don’t know what i was expecting to happen but i was definitely expecting something but nothing really happened
i was later told from a different nurse that “this side” of the clinic (implying there was an “other side” of the clinic), where j and i were neighbors, where j’s eyes met mine while his hands were touching his erection through his pants, where i was supposed to be ok, where i didn’t have to worry about unwanted love notes left on my bed, were meant for the “higher at-risk” patients and i was placed here because of my transness and not for wanting to die and i was like wow it was chill in here until that dude started touching himself next to me and until y’all started telling me this (actually it wasn’t that chill at all tbh)
something about “privacy for transgender patients” something about a “higher acuity level” something about a “lower acuity level” something about the “other side” which was really just a bigger common area and another hallway of doors and rooms and people sleeping in them, all blocked by a big wooden door and a lock, but they weren’t as “bad off” or as “ill” or implicitly decrepit as i was or j was something about me not being able to get a bed on the “other side” because i would have to share a room with a guy something about me wondering why
it was like i had realized i had such a mess in my trash can that i posted a help wanted ad on craigslist looking for someone to help me clean it out but when they showed up at my front door and walked into my home they looked into my trash can and instantly got sick and then vomited right into the trash can and then said, with sharp inhales and teary eyes, “so sorry about this mess, lets put it somewhere else, maybe outside, to air out, yeah it’ll get better” but then there was a guy outside who liked to masturbate next to and into trash cans but we wouldn’t know this until it was too late and there was cum in and around my trash can that i now had to clean up cause the laborers left but they still asked for my money and i still gave it to them and now it’s just me sitting in my kitchen whispering, “be accountable for your decisions” repeatedly to myself.
cum never looks good on anything by the way
it doesn’t look good on bedsheets you lay on for reasons that you still don’t think you can really justify it doesn’t look good on the text messages you sent all your friends when you were high on meth and sleepless it doesn’t look good on the feeling you had when you realized it hadn’t been that long since the last time you used which was a week ago and you really just got here and it doesn’t look good on the bus ride home after you stole valium from someone who let you into their world via a greyhound ticket, half a year of phone calls and messages, and the only set of pinky toes that match yours it doesn’t look good on all this shit in my trash can it doesn’t look good on you and it doesn’t look good on me but I really think I wanted it to look good on me for the longest time
I wanted to be a dirty trash can for the longest time
but i’m not a dirty trash can and i don’t want to be.
i want to be something someday but that something won’t be a dirty trash can
cause i just went to target and got some lysol wipes and i really want to be a clean trash can now, the same trash can i’ve always been, not the new ones i’ve bought and discarded over the years so
sorry for the trash metaphor
and im sure I’ll be sorry again for something in the future but Whatever