#inadequate

Don't make me tap the sign.

The "transandrobros" are fighting against an ideology. Transandrophobes are fighting against a demographic.

It is literally impossible for us to lose. Your worldview will crumble and join that of TERFS in the grave, and I promise you that it will not be mourned by anyone.

For a long time now, every meeting with another human being has been a collision. I feel too much, sense too much, am exhausted by the reverberations after even the simplest conversation. But the deep collision is and has been with my unregenerate, tormenting, and tormented self. I have written every poem, every novel, for the same purpose-to find out what I think, to know where I stand. I am unable to become what I see. I feel like an inadequate machine, a machine that breaks down at crucial moments, grinds to dreadful halt, "won't go," or, even worse, explodes in some innocent person's face.

Day Four DWC 6/3/26 Inadequate/Bond

I stare over the edge of the ship, The Righteous Venture, watching the choppy water below. It churns like the feeling of unrest that settles into my bones. A feeling that no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to shake.

Sea spray hits the side of the ship, throwing up bits of water in my face. The water is much cooler than I thought it would be so far out in the ocean. The spray makes the railing slick, causing my hands to slip as the boat sways.

Already, I can feel the electricity in the surrounding air. A storm is brewing, and they warn me it might be quite a show. The waves are already swelling larger than usual, and the ship is rocking more than normal, causing me to have issues keeping steady on my feet. The wind is also picking up quite a bit. Strands of my long, loose hair whip around my face and fall across my eyes, making it more difficult to see than usual as they stick to my wet skin.

The surrounding men are in full work mode, preparing the ship for whatever is coming. A part of me wants to jump in and help, but I admit I have no skill when it comes to sailing. Still, it makes me feel as if I am inadequate since I am of no help. I have always been the type to step in, step up, and do my part. Even though my part then and my part now are vastly different.

However, I should get back to my cabin. I was of no use to anyone standing up here rocking and swaying. If anything, one wrong slip and I might end up overboard. Wouldn’t that be perfect? I could at least swim, but the last thing I wanted was the captain’s men having to fish me out of the water or, worse, being left there if he decided I wasn’t worth the trouble.

I head to the guest cabin where I am currently staying, passing several of the sailors along the way who give me barely a glance as they continue to work. I stop in front of the door of my cabin and hesitate. No idea why I do. I just do. I feel something is off, but I am unsure of what.

I push the door open and step inside. My hands immediately move to pull my hair out of my face. I shimmy out of my damp clothing, rummaging around in the trunk I had brought along to find something less cumbersome than the dark robes I had been wearing. If things went sideways, I needed to be able to move quickly.

Why did I have a feeling that things might go sideways? I’m unsure. But my senses seem on high alert, and I can feel a vibration from the dagger at my side through the bond we share. Which is usually a warning sign.

I dress in what I consider my battle gear before I sit down on the edge of the bed, closing my eyes.

Something isn’t right.

I can feel whatever it is getting stronger.

My eyes fly open, the usual light blue color now deep blues and purples.

Something is coming… and it isn’t just the storm.

Mi cerchi e mi trovi quando nessuno più ha qualcosa da darti, quando ho finalmente qualcosa per nutrire me stessa tu corri e te la prendi.

Non ti è bastata la mia mia infanzia, né la mia giovinezza vero? Vuoi prenderti tutti i miei giorni e tutti i miei sorrisi. Ti prendi la mia gioia quando finalmente io lotto da sola per ottenerla, ti prendi la mia sicurezza quando finalmente me la impongo come standart di vita, ti prendi le mie parole quando finalmente trovo da sola il coraggio di sbagliare davanti a tutti. Non ti stanchi mai, non ti sazi mai, non sei mai felice e cerchi da mangiare dentro di me anche quando sei troppo stanca per entrare da sola nella mia testa, allora ti riduci a mandare qualcun'altro a prenderti uno spuntino.

O insaziata inadeguatezza, sei una sanguisuga dello spirito, sei il male di cui parlano nei testi sacri, ti chiamerò Shejtan perché sei l'incubo di tutti, ti sfami sempre con i più gioiosi, con i più attenti e premurosi, con quelli che sai benissimo riuscirebbero a cancellare la tua esistenza dalla vita degli altri. Sbagli sempre, mangi un po' male, mangi fortuna che non è tua, cibo che non fa e non è per te, cibo che per quanto provi a rubare rimarrà inchiodato sulla mia tavola imbandita, c'è del marcio tra tutta questa fortuna, ma presto arriverà l'ora per me di alzarmi e di ripulire, lascerò qui sopra solo ciò che tu desideri così tanto e ti farò guardare affamata senza concederti nemmeno un avanzo, sarà la cosa più giusta che riuscirò a fare con le mie forze. Ti sei presa tutto ormai, prenditi finché puoi, altre delle mie persone, delle mie cose, delle mie opportunità, io un giorno quando sarai di nuovo alle mie calcagna pronta a sbranarmi, ti lascerò mordere l'aria.