Naming My Angels And Demons (A Poem)
(Hi. I’m Justin Martin. Throughout history, in religions both pagan and Abrahamic, there’s a huge value placed on naming things. Knowing something’s true name is a way of either binding it, in the case of demons, or loving it better, in the case of angels. I thought that, as a disabled person, it’d be helpful for me to name some things before I transition to adulthood.)
NAMING MY ANGELS AND DEMONS
By Justin Martin
To the nights when I’m still up at 3 AM wondering what will happen if my child wants to learn how to throw a football, I name you Ambrose.
To the realization, at an early age, that I would have to learn to open even the heaviest of doors, because nobody would ever bother to turn the buttons on, I name you Andronikos.
To the people who, earnestly and without malice, ask me if I have a penis as casually as old ladies ask to borrow cups of sugar, I name you Arcadius.
To the thankfulness that my penis, unlike the vast majority of my body, is still on speaking terms with me, I name you Aristocles.
To the feeling when you see a little girl playing Dance Dance Revolution at an arcade, simultaneously hating her for not realizing the miracle and loving her for never having to, I name you Arsenios
To the moment when a small cousin is climbing on my wheelchair like a jungle gym and I understand that fear, pity, and shame are all adult inventions, I name you Basilious .
To all of the birthday cakes I’ve barely eaten at the parties I’ve barely been invited to, I name you Cassander.
To all of the mothers who forced their children to invite me anyway, but never forced themselves to consider why their children and their society put me on an island, I name you Cyrus.
To the glorious chocolate drop contained within the three second pause after I make a cripple joke, when the audience considered if their laughter would tan them in the afterlife, I name you Demetrius
To the people who decided to call it “The Special Olympics” instead of “The Olympics That Even NBC Won’t Air”, I name you Draco.
To the Center For Disease Control, who all too often seems to have placed a quarantine on any table I sit at, I name you Euclid.
To the people just insane enough to break the quarantine, I name you Eutropius.
To the years where there was mulch around the swings and slides of the playground, where I learned the value of the people who were more comfortable outside of it, I name you Georgios.
To the six seconds before I drift under a surgical knife, exhaling to draw the border between the times when things happen through me and the time when things happen to me, I name you Herodotus.
To comic books, where it is more likely for someone to be bitten by multiple radioactive spiders than it is for them to live happily while disabled, I name you Homer.
To the little battles for dignity, whose cannon-shots are seen in the eyes of people who hear me sing a stave of music or help me set up a decent spare in bowling, I name you Isidore.
To my doctor, who still asks me if I’m having unprotected sex every time we have an appointment, proving that even medical school can’t kill one’s optimism, I name you Kleopatra.
To the constant dread that takes hold when people ask me what I did this weekend and I remember that most people can fit into their cars, I name you Leonidas.
To the realization that my parents felt worse hearing that than I did writing it, I name you Linus.
To all of the energy I subconsciously devote to not looking spastic, I name you Myron .
To whatever force blessed me with the ability to, when told that God will heal my legs, not respond with “is that before or after he fixes your brain?”, I name you Nikon .
To the fear that I’ll want to go around one more time, less limited, I name you Olympos.
To the peace in knowing that if I don’t live to see a just world, I can make sure that my children do, I name you Philon.
Ambrose, Andronikos, Arcadius, Aristocles, Arsenios, Basilious, Cassander, Cyrus, Demetrius, Draco, Euclid, Eutropius, Georgios, Herodotus, Homer, Isidore, Kleopatra, Leonidas, Linus, Myron, Nikon, Olympos and Philon, I cast you into the arms of my great-grandfathers for the sake of the fathers to come.
by all definitions, we were doomed from the start.
it was easy to see, even in the dimmest of daylights. we were built to fall apart, all makeshift building blocks and expired craft glue, trying to construct a hopeless home. or maybe we had hope, and we didn’t have anything else.
by all definitions, i was in love with you.
i refuse to gratify something that was only ever going to fail, but those building blocks were so goddamn easy to fall for. i remember everything we said we would do and never did, all of the “someday’s” we shared and feelings we promised to never let go of. an infinite present. a konfetti rose. an inimitable amount of heartbreak.
by all definitions, you forgot.
justifying being forgotten is the hardest thing i have ever had to do. i never made peace with it. i opened the softest parts of my heart, left the door open, waited for you to crawl in like you always said you would. i waited, and thieves entered and took all the good parts. i can’t believe i spent so much goddamn time waiting for you.
by all definitions, it’s over.
i learned how to lock the door, and take back the parts of me you let everyone steal. i learned to never trust the benefit of the doubt. i have blood on my hands, but god, at least i don’t collect hearts like snow globes on a shelf. our hopeless home was never a home at all.
- waiting is a disease and it only gets worse by the second (via urbanings)
hello. to all of you. all 6k+ of you. i just wanted to say, thank you. thank you for making me feel like a poet on days where i thought i was more monster than artist. more body than soul. more nightmare than dream. thank you. thank you for the being the origin story of constant messages and reblogs and likes and honesty. tumblr might fade in and out of time with me, but i will never forget this. it was @grizzlybairparty‘s words which had first inspired me to realize that this platform was valid. her words, though not in print yet, had evoked a comfort that Siken could parallel. it really just started off as a casual thing. this. this place. but then, this was became where i started taking something about me seriously. what started out as a venting session for words that were taking up too much storage on my laptop turned into a corner of the internet which has never stopped giving back to me. without you, without this blog, without the support that this place has given me, Alec Verse would not exist. there are so many ways this place has changed me. i would not have met @corneas. i would not have known what works to send to a writing program last summer that not only got me in, but also gave me a scholarship. i would not have gotten into Kenyon, because believe it or not i wrote about Alec Verse and xverses in my college essay. a modern muse would not exist if you didn’t want to read it. i would have written it in the crevice of my mind and kept it there, not self published it in the heat of an august i won’t forget. and these are just things. the solace you all would give to me by letting me yell into what i thought was a void about what i love and how it would never seem to love me back right and listening, listening when no one around me really was? that’s priceless. it would save me from the brink of losing again, you were a strange reminder to come back. thank you. for teaching this hedonist how to pray again. the faith that i have found in writing was a culmination of all of your belief. from strangers, to friends, to here - you all are part of something bigger, the movement inside my mind. that’s why i come back. even after months, i try to come back and stay active and i hope you know i’ve read each and every one of your messages. scoured through the likes and reblogs, read the tags in detail and saved some of them too. your kindness here does not evade me, and never will. thank you for always propelling me, for being the backbone to xverses. it would not exist for so long now if it wasn’t for all of you here. :)
