Okay. So I speed ran watching Chicago Fire this summer while working a data processing job at work. Like all 13 seasons and caught up to current. So that season 14 opener... What a kick in the fucking teeth. Watching Kelly's growth through the seasons has been great. He's such a loving partner to Stella (not perfect, but hey I generally like my characters messy). And Stella is such an incredible character. Their love-story made me giggle and kick my feet.
I process my feelings in writing...hello indie author. lol. So I processed my feelings with this. It's not quite poetry, but not like my normal writing. It follows the first episode's storyline so spoilers and trigger warnings for the subject matter of that very first scene.
Supposed To Be...
Focus. Drills. Donāt strangle the new guy.Ā
Focus. Clean the house. Check in on her crew.
Focus. Walk away from Kelly - too many emotions if she looks at him too longā¦
ā¦.And she canāt.
Canāt think about it. Not with a Captain sheās still proving herself with.
Canāt think about it. Not with a new guy whoās already a problem and she knows it.
Canāt think about it. Not with her husband who she knows blames her despite his assurances.
Wonāt let herself cry. She already cried.
Teary-eyed in the doctorās office.
Slow rivers running down her cheeks on the drive from the hospital.
Anguished sobs when they were safe at home.
Wonāt let herself cry here. Sheās a firefighter here.
But sheās supposed to be a pregnant firefighter.
Sheās supposed to be arguing about when she has to put herself on restricted.
Sheās supposed to be rolling her eyes about Kelly fussing at her in secret.
Sheās supposed to be over it when the whole House starts doting on her.
Violetās supposed to be giving her medical advice.
Finding the baby things should have been when she accidentally let the cat out of the bag.
Her and Kelly would have dragged her Mollyās and sworn her to secrecy
The medic would have been watching her like a hawk confusing The House.
Hermanās supposed to be asking her about her weird eating habits.
Heād catch on before the othersā¦heās got so many kids.
Ginger gum in her locker with him winking at her, keeping it under wraps.
Volunteering to be first in on calls and backing up her orders
The squad crew should be noticing Kelly smiling at her more than normal.
They should be teasing him about bedroom activities until he gives them āthe lookā
Maybe Cruz would catch onā¦but maybe not.
Focus. Paperwork. Processing grants for Girlās-on-Fire.
Focus. Updates from the department and schedules.
Focusā¦.Focus on the blurry words.
Heās so disappointed. He wonāt say it. But she knows he is.
Heās hoovering - not in the āyou got this Stella Kiddā way but in the āare you gonna breakā way
She canāt break. CANāT.
Sheās supposed to be a pregnant firefighter!
Sheās supposed to be calling Brett, to keep the gossip at bay.
Sheās supposed to be a mom.
Heās supposed to be touching her belly.
Heās supposed to be talking to their child.
Heās supposed to be suggesting awful names while rubbing her feet.
Heās supposed to be a dad.
The universe gave them a moment to rip it away?
What the fuck was this?
Why?
She wants to scream, but she canāt.
Focus. Focus. Focusā¦.
His arms are strong around her.Ā
Her music louder in her office
The door slams shut - a boot print from his kick.
Heās whispering how much he loves her.Ā
How sheās strong.
How heās never leaving her.
How sheās allowed to cry.
No. No. Not here.
Theyāll all ask.
Theyāll all know.Ā
He promises they can blame it on him.
Theyāll tell The House he broke something she loved.
Or her beloved aunt hated him for saying something stupid.
The House never had to know.Ā
Heād keep the secret forever.
It would be theirs and theirs alone.
Her body is a quivering mess
Snot and tears on her face.Ā
She vomits into the trashcan that he barely hands her in time.
Morning sicknessā¦
This is supposed to be fucking morning sickness.
Instead itās Mourning Sickness.
Damn this universe.
Whyā¦ why when she was nervous but ready to tackle it?
Heād be such a good father.Ā
His hand rubs circles on her back.
They rock back and forth as she continues to wretch.
His lips press to her hair.
Warm words of love against her ear.
Focusā¦through the tears and pain.Ā
Sheās supposed to be able to focus.
But itās too much.
The knock on the door is softā¦
She turns her body away to hide.
He stands up and guards her grief - shielding her.
They are supposed to support each other - save each other.
She hates how broken she feels.
Theyāre supposed to be happy.
Sheās supposed to be a pregnant firefighter.
The conversation she barely hears is brief.
His growl about being interrupted is fierce.
The light on her desk phone is blinking red.
Sheās supposed to answer a call?
Focus on that?
On paperwork?
Are they fucking joking?
Itās the hospital.
No. No. No.Ā
Her head shakes like a child.
Voice meer tremor as the ānoesā cross her lips.
He takes the call.Ā
His hand still on her back, rubbing circles.
Her hand finds his thigh.
Touch to ground them.
They are supposed to be parents, not a pair of messes not holding it together.
Her name makes her look up to him.
His eyes are full of tears.
He was crying with her.
She should have comforted him too.
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Imagine you walk out of āEmpire Strikes Backā and George Lucas is waiting outside the theater āfingers crossed we will do one more! Donāt know but I hope!ā
Thatās good Omens Season 2ā¦. It MIGHT have the makings of the best season of the whole show (the āempireā of the trilogy) but the up in the air-ness of the intended conclusion is actually whatās so hard here for me
Cuz I cannot get the finale out of my mind, itās so well written and acted but hurts, and will we ever know if Lea get Han out of that carbonite????
One word, to make all the difference
holding my fears, entrapped in my perished confidence
One word, that travels down my spine and enters my heart
splits me open and puts me back together again
harrowing, healing, the painful truth that pulls me apart
The one word is woman
Because I want the world to know
that a woman can
defy all sense of gender logic, and grow
into the role of living as a man
There is no regret in my decision to transition
but there is shame in my resistence and persistence
and there is guilt in my defiance of compliance
but I know I shouldn't throw
my truth away
just because it's not easy to convey
And I'll tell you why it matters:
because a man did not accomplish what I did
A man did not struggle through the hell I lived
A man did not learn to love himself after a lifetime of self-hatred, against all odds, to overcome what he hid
A woman did
There in lies my pain, my trauma and grief
wrapped up in comfort, trust, and relief
I just wish to move forward without leaving behind
either my male traits, or my female nature so fine
because it is those two aspects combined
that truly makes me shine
And I'm a woman no matter how much it inconveniences me
No matter how much it pains me
Because what I am is not a choice
but it still clings in the back of my throat as I devoice
that I'm a woman no matter how hard it is to say
even if my identity is illogical and not okay
because it's all that I have
One word, to make all the difference
trapped in my fears, the key to my confidence
I will insist on owning the power to my oppressed gender
by embracing the pain I fought to erase and replace
and I will not surrender or align
because I want to shine
And I will not replace that one word with any other
even if I struggle and stutter
Because a man did not learn to love himself, against all odds, to heal the pain he lived
A woman did
There in lies my pain, my trauma and grief
wrapped up in comfort, trust, and relief
All these complex feelings, for a pain I cannot cure
My womanhood is a state of simply being
happily female, a full-time drag king provocateur
I'm tired of defending
why I feel the way I do
So if you please excuse my preposterous demand
to speak my mind freely
Because to simply call myself a woman is a breakthrough
that I'm sorry you cannot understand
*
I wrote this poem just to vent some of my inner frustrations. Itās not directed at anyone specific. The poem is about reclaiming womanhood as an FtM without wanting to detransition oneās appearance, but people kept telling me that I canāt be a woman if I donāt change my presentation, and I have a lot of feelings about that, which need a lot of processing. And my therapist is useless so I turn to poetry and tumblr for my processing. So I hope you enjoy this artistic portrayal of my inner pain, tiredless foolishness and unstoppable willpower. The tone of the poem also hints at that my persistent wish to call myself a woman and not a man (or any invented gender label like nonbinary, for that matter), despite it being uncomfortable, is not about labels nor self-hate - itās about facing reality and to stop being controlled by my fears.
Ryptoll. Dated: November 22nd, year 2020.
I have been having such a stressful time at work. I know I have bitched about it, and it has taken up a significant part of my brain power. I let people convince me this could be my future and deep down I knew, I didn't want it to be. I feel like I haven't been able to actually relax since busy season has started.
Today it feel like I was able to actually rest and relax, I lazed about and watch true crime documentaries but most importantly masturbated, but i really allowed my to enjoy the experience I took my time AND i came twice which I never do. It feels a little stupid to think this action had given me some kind of clarification but...fuck this job and these people at this job. I have goals in my life and things I want to accomplish and the success of this woman's store is not one of them.
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The irony of not knowing I'm numb because I believed I would feel it happen.
I'm stranded on an island. The boat is anchored offshore, and I'm too scared to swim. I don't want to step into the cold and brace against the waves. I don't want to lose what I have cobbled together on the island.
Maybe I could bring these things with me. Maybe I could brace the waves if I had them with me. I'm reluctant to admit they would weigh me down, every effort to swim would be harder. I'm scared that I'll wash up on that island a failure, with everything I've cobbled washed away with the sea. How do I survive then?
