where are my horns?

i could ask a million questions like this, though,

but of course, that gets me nowhere. It still leaves that feeling I've had for an entire lifetime or more, though, the feeling that pierces through the chest with a red thread, but isn't love.

Rather, an isolation uncomparable to my usual isolations. In the spirit and heart, I've never felt like I belonged inside a humanity or a human form, but rather, alongside it, or perhaps somewhere else altogether. It feels like red thread, but also a thick cloudiness congesting my throat, my lungs and stomach, to choke me. It feels like a numbness in my hands, a numbness of something that I do not own. I do not own these hands! I'm supposed to have something else.

Somewhere in August 2020, was that first taste of mourning a life lived, but only realized after. It lingers within me since. It is an ebb-and-flow, waves, sometimes wondering if I even exist at all. Being alongside crowds of others brings on that too easily. It's like being an outline alongside filled-in shapes. Something missing.

But maybe I wouldn't be this way if I wasn't so fragile overall. I had a history of unfortunate events, a series, but not as bad as losing one's parents in a fire. It was small ones that added up, maybe two or three big things, but like the red thread through the heart, swords gashed through it, too. It bleeds out, an unstable outline, and onto the floor, where the filled-in ones see, and avoid it.

Again, in August 2020, I had a realizing of that missing piece of "myself", and it was, rather, an odd person that I happened to be. Like looking into a mirror, I saw blue, and the brain saw it as myself. That's me. Lobster Cookie is me. Strange sentence. Stranger memory. Feelings. Touch. Warmth. But undeniable truth.

And a whole lot of missing things. Missing a home I knew so well. People that I loved, and was loved back by. But maybe most of all was a body so strange.

Where is the body I was given by Her Holiness?

Legs, long and spikey and a bit shiny in the light. War-torn scarring on the chest. An androgyny I still search for in this life. Hell, the claws! Even typing feels wrong sometimes. Claws. Well, one claw. And where are my horns?

To mourn what is lost from who I am is isolating.

And so, it cycles again, from isolation, to an inhumanity so strong, and to going back in the shadows, where perhaps I was born.

...Will this one make sense to anybody but me? Does anything make sense at all in this world? No. So let's live together, free in a nonsensical city.

the song i was listening to for half an hour while this was written is pretty good, and maybe fitting, so why not put it here too?