Coyissleepy - Coyote

You can never go back.

I have a tan hoodie i got a few years ago, from my mother.

Since i got it, its been my favorite.

Its thin, and torn but its comforting. Theres holes at the end of my sleeves i can stick my thumbs through.

On a warm summer in British Columbia, me and my friends take a bus downtown. Pausing at one of the stops to smoke and a bit of hot ash falls onto my hoodie, burning a small hole. It doesnt bother me.

Painting on a wall late at night, its cold and i can barely feel my fingers against the nozzle of the can. When i bring my arm down, my sleeve brushes against the wet paint and leaves a permanent stain. It doesnt bother me.

As the hoodie grows more worn the ends of the sleeve cuffs wear out, theres a hole that bores through them from where i put out a joint. At some parts the sleeves thin out, nearing another hole if it dare gets caught on anything. It doesnt bother me.

A late September i meet my best friend through his brother, we find and break into an abandoned house that still has belongings. He decides to spray the motion lights with liquid rubber. As i walk under it, it drips onto the pocket of my hoodie. It doesnt bother me.

The inside of the hood is stained purple from me sleeping with damp hair, even if it fades every time i wash it, it never fails to reappear after a shower. It doesnt bother me.

I get knocked off my feet in a friendly fight, the back of my hoodie gets caught on a rock and tears. But my friend is standing above me holding his hand out to help me up. I sew a patch over the hole later, but he doesnt know that. He apologies with a drink. It doesnt bother me.

I no longer wear this hoodie out, for it is worn and thin and very lovingly mended. I still see it as a part of me, the memories it holds are dear to me.

this poem is about being nonbinary.

Certain words can change your brain forever and ever so you do have to be very careful about it.

Dragon time.

Ko-fi Redbubble

urban anarchist type autism is i know all the plants on my home street i recognize all common graffiti tags and i have favourites

i can tell you 16 places off the top of my head that the tag "333" in this one specific archaic style is found

i notice new tags, i see you unheard souls

i watch the tiny sapling, canadian maple, it has spent months trying to force its way through sidewalk concrete and i'd try and rehome it if its roots weren't caught there underneath

i have the city council queer representation person on e-mail speed dial, i carry 12 types of pen to cover up hateful graffiti and i carry industrial cleaner and a scraper to get rid of bigoted stickers and nazi propaganda

and in an envelope that i was given by my lover/friend i carry uncountable amounts of stickers

the cops stop me for random "check ins" when they see me remove graffiti and i'm white and i'm aware of what that privilege means, despite the tattoos on my fingers and all the things inside my bag i have never been arrested

and i have brought you food when you were sick, i took the city bus with tea and vegan ginger soup to help you rest and cure

and i have fixed a bench myself with my own hands and tighter screws when it came clear that between the city council and the store in front of which it stands nobody owned it and therefore noone cares that senior citizens could injure themselves sitting on a broken bench

and on another street the senior citizen residence, they know me cause i've asked for their maintenance ladder to remove some fascist shit high up on a streetlight right outside their building

i count the seasons based on what the bramble hedges do

and every full moon new i silently rejoice, O Máni, that the wolves have not yet caught you

:SCRR