Drought

Oh Rain Robert, where have you been? Post videos, post coming out, post posts, into a sense of rejection, of danger, of failure, past feeling my body, past being able to function, past knowing how to help myself…

I think Rain Robert is the name of my soul. That’s why I can’t drop it, even when I’m not doing it. Because it’s not a doing thing, it’s a being thing. That’s why I miss her. Because I miss me.

I see now how I have usurped my own identity to create hers, taking away my real name to make room for my real self.

There was a version of me that had not been allowed out before. She is how I freed her. Pleasure and pain are the language she speaks. But giving her a voice is not without consequences. Her existence into the world is confusing and threatening. Instead of celebrating the victory of her release, I got caught up in how she was being received. And just like that it took me back to not knowing how to be what I should be. And just like that that took me back to wondering if maybe I cannot be at all.

I keep searching for a viable pathway to let her be. Let me be. Because I hear the voice fading out. Please. Let me out. I am suffocating if I can’t come out. You are being strangled if you keep me in. A prisoner in my own self. I am a prisoner of my self. Both tyrant and martyr, executioner and victim. The question is, is this a tragedy or a drama, have the fates been appointed or are we in between acts?

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