I’ve outgrown my adult best friend. The boy I became a man with. The boy who made it feel like I wasn’t alone in a place where nobody felt like me. For years he was the only mirror I had. The only person who got it. Honestly, I’ve been outgrowing him slowly, painfully, one splinter at a time. I didn’t know how to let go. Not until the rope cut so deep I practically sliced my fingers off just trying to hold on. Now there’s no grip left. Just skin and scar. space and peace. I don’t hate him. Which is usually how I let go when my love turns to hate. I just no longer wish to participate in his delusions or fantasies.
Addiction
I’ve also outgrown habitual drug use. Or really, drugs in general. At least the illicit kind. I still like my plants: weed, nicotine, caffeine. Those feel more natural to me. Oh, and mushrooms. Can’t forget the little mushroom dudes. Sometimes they’ve taught me more than any therapist ever did. But the rest of it? That chasing? That hole-filling impulse? That’s gone.
Toxicity
I’ve outgrown toxic patterns. The ones I clung to because they felt like home, mostly outgrown. I mean chaos was the language I was taught love in. I grew up watching relationships rot from the inside out and thought that must be what connection looks like. So I repeated it. Over and over. Until I didn’t. I still have my self-sabotaging hiccups but no one is perfect.
Clothes
I’ve outgrown my clothes. Literally. I dropped over 60 pounds this year. I had told myself I’d do it as my resolution. For once, I didn’t break that promise. My body feels different now. My skin holds me differently. My knees don’t hurt on hikes as quick for sure.
Allowing Myself to Wallow
And maybe the biggest thing? I’ve outgrown the lie that my depression controls everything. Some days, yeah, it wins. But other days, a lot of days, it’s a choice. Not to be sick, but to sit in it. To fester in the filth instead of fighting. I’ve started calling myself out on it. Started crawling out of bed even when I don’t want to. Started facing the rot before it spreads. Because healing is choosing again and again not to let the dark devour you whole. If there’s no light in my line of sight I have learned to become the light.
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You can take the nature out the boy, but you can’t take the man out of nature
Even when I’m knee-deep in ink and altar smoke, my roots are still hiking trails, crinoid fossils, and the hum of wind through stone.
Poetry is resistance when you write like Poeaxtry
Every line is protest, prayer, and proof that I’m still here trans, loud, witchy, and unerasable.
My gender is wilderness: untamed, honest, and thriving in the dark
I wasn’t made to be trimmed down into a label. I’m a forest fire and a bloom, both.
Spell bags in one hand, survival in the other
I’m a living altar: grief and grit, ritual and rage, healing and hustle.
Former silence, current storm
I used to swallow it all. Now I speak, write, scream, and conjure without shame.
Born from shadow work, built to shine
The ghosts that haunt me taught me how to live.
Soft things with teeth
Gentleness doesn’t mean weakness. I know how to bite back if I have to.
Can write you a love poem, hex your ex, and hike a mountain before lunch
I’m not a contradiction, I’m a constellation.
But honestly, I can’t be wrapped up in just one line. I’m too many things. Too full of lives survived, of magic made, of poems burned and rewritten.
So if I had to choose?
Unapologetic trans man. Poet witch. Rock hunter. Truth-teller. Born to be wild… not just free. And always me!
In possession of a solo project that’s ready to see the light of day? Poeaxtry offers first-come, first-serve free manuscript editing, publishing, and formatting support for indie writers. No fees, no hoops, just guidance to get your work prepared, shared, and available digitally or print. I will help guide you through the listing of your collection when I can. Then I’ll showcase your Prism Published book in our catalog, with a blurb, links to purchase, and your social links. Ideal for those who want professional polish without barriers. Submit a request by Form or email Poeaxtryspoetryprism@gmail.com Accepted by availability and aligned views. On a minorities first basis.
Camping is one of my main loves in life. It was one of the first things as an adolescent that I realized I truly enjoyed. My cousins from North Carolina would come up each summer to stay a few weeks with our grandma and grandpa. during this time pap would set up the tent and allow us to camp in the yard in-between their house and ours. No adult supervision (so we thought). We would roast marshmallows for s’mores and tell childish scary stories. The scary stories were always a part I enjoyed because my cousins were rather sheltered and easily scared.
Through high school I would camp across the highway at the river front with friends. We would always have rotations of marijuana in joints, blunts, bowls, and other various smoking devices. You know we obviously also had our share of alcohol, and underage river front fires. How we didn’t get busted one time I still don’t understand.
I eventually took my siblings and their friends to their first Ohio river waterfront camping night. I don’t know if they continued going and kept with the tradition or if it was a one off. However, 2 nineteen-year-old baby adults and at least 6 thirteen year olds camping was probably the least fun, most sober camping trip I ever had.
I also just recently crossed a camping trip off my bucket list and a few hikes. My partner and I camped on Lake Superior last June. It was to die for. The views, the semiprecious stones, the water, and just the relaxing atmosphere Munising, Michigan has to offer is undeniable.
This summer I plan to add a few more camping trips to different Great Lakes. I do know for sure Ontario is mid June so be on the lookout for that. I hope y’all find something you love as much as I do camping, it’s freeing.
🖤What do you think about camping? Best and worst memories? Link.
