on most days, i hate steve rogers. on most days, i also desperately want to be him.

what i mean is that on some mornings i wake up ready to vibrate out of my skin itching for a fight. on others, i cannot remember how to get out of bed to turn the lights on. on the rest, i read the news. i go outside. i listen to my friends. i go back to rage.

what i’m trying to say is that on some days i feel like this is proof i was assigned fucked up at birth and on some days it feels like the world just fucked me up on the way. like my queerness means i’ll always be looking for love and i’ll never be able to find it. that if the chance appears, i’ll just be looking the other way, with blood on my knuckles, gasping for air and shouting “fight me”.

and the even deeper irony is that i’m not even that. i’m not even the self-sacrificing idiot constantly angling for a fight i wish i was. i’m just a scared little kid whose dream is to be the kind of person i always disliked and secretly admired. like my dream is not to live peacefully with someone i love, but to say take me home and mean only when the fight is over. only when you can stroke my hair and tell me it’s all okay; like my version of love is turning away from it toward the fight with my fists raised, say “i can do this all day”, and believe it.

-cgi.
(written for #netcprompts day 25: take me home)