SmartAssJen | listening to the living and the dead: ruminations…

tumblr_n32tdwdZ0i1qzxeqqo3_500SmartAssJen | listening to the living and the dead: ruminations….

Long post…rambles a bit…and scintillating in every single point, as an emotional map tracking the swings and oscillations of my heart and soul.

Trigger warning:  boring for cis-gendered people…and explosive for transgender people.



There is strong evidence given the fact that Greek and Hebrew Languages assign numerical values to letters that 5 is the number of Grace…5.

I love the number 5, and I always have.


Look at all the fives there.


Because of that, I think I am gonna stick around.  It seems that there are promises implied and inferred…promises hidden there…20 is 4×5 and 15 is 3×5.

Yeah…it is stupid and a stupid reason to be…but tell me:  is yours any better?  What do you do when you have given your best and been called the worst for it?

I will go with Grace…5…Grace Quadrupled and Grace Cubed.

Charissa Grace…choosing to be here and feeling stupid about it.


A 2015 Promise For Leelah Alcorn, And For All “Different” Young People Who Never Made It Here

Cannot really do much more but reblog this. Again… Just crying from this. Thank you John

john pavlovitz

Leelah Alcorn never got to see 2015.

It was stolen from her.

This fresh, pristine moment in time that you’re experiencing right now, with all of its newness and possibility and promise? It’s one she didn’t have the chance to stand expectantly in.

The statistics will say that she left of own accord, choosing to depart prematurely, opting out of life.

On paper, she’ll look just like another number; one more depressed, confused, impulsive teen who in a moment of recklessness and emotion, simply took the easy way out.

We know differently.

We know that she lived for far too long with the kind of pain that a young heart should never, ever carry.

We know that her fragile will, finally broke beneath the weight of cruel jokes, and misguided religion, and fear, and silence, and hatred.

We know that she was a she, and that the world refused to really see her.

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Dread and Presences


I feel it still.

at the base
of my throat
and throbbing dully,
quietly slumbering

with one leering eye
cocked open always
and leaning towards
my heart.

My heart…
chipped and worked,
touched and chilled
by the frozen fingers
of dread and

shards of it lay scattered
at my feet clear,
jagged glimmering

I step to the rail and look back
peering intently into the fog
thick and lingering, but
2014 is shrouded, hidden
and if I hadn’t lived it
I wouldn’t have believed it
was anything more
than a dream.

It was a year that hollowed out
thinned out, emptied out
but never declared its intention.

I don’t think it ever knew
or if it even could.

It was a year
without windows
but many doors
and ladies
and tigers.

There is more to life than meets the eye,
more than can be measured
by the senses or a census
but this morning there is just
the fog behind and the early dark
ahead awaiting dawn.

and Dread

and my heart shaped
in its cold hands
and God’s Warm Heart.

Across the prow of my ship
the rain slants and glints
in the deck lights (dark lights)
like silvery needles
sent to stitch
the past and future
together in this moment.

I think of Presences.



there and here with me
in time and triumph,
tears and tragedy
but only One
does my heart
awaken in this dawn
and set afire tears
upon my face

a God of grace,
a God of love,
a God of…justice?

I don’t even know where
to start with that!

I face forward
into dawn’s early light


the way of grace
not effort!

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