Comfort Frequency

I see your posts.
The skits.
The guy claiming he “identifies”
as something absurd —
just to mock people like me.

The comments cheer.
The likes climb.
Everyone’s laughing,
but it’s not funny when
you mean me.

You mean the name I claimed.
The voice I’m still learning to trust.
The pronouns that feel like home.
The days I barely make it out the door.

You say it’s “just a joke.”
But jokes like that
built the silence I grew up in.
Jokes like that
keep kids from coming out.
Jokes like that
are why I still flinch
when I walk past mirrors in public.

You think you’re being clever.
You think you’re just making a point.
But you’re really just proving
you’ve never had to fight for your name.
You’ve never had to explain your existence
to survive it.

I am not your bit.
I am not your meme.
I am not here to make your ignorance
comfortable.

I am soft and sharp.
I am still becoming.
I am still showing up —
even when the world sneers.

So laugh if you must.
But I’ll still be here,
beautifully
unapologetically
real.

-Ryn

I wake up beneath the ceiling of my skull,
stormlight flickering,
panic peeling at the walls again.
Another morning,
another ghost wearing my name.

I step into the mirror
and ask politely,
“Which version are you today?”
The glass doesn’t answer.
It just hums—a low, electric unease.
Maybe she is hiding.
Maybe he is tired.
Maybe they didn’t survive the night.

⸻

I am told
that every anxious thought
must mean something.
But what if it doesn’t?
What if the static in my head
is just a broken radio
still whispering of fires long gone cold?

They call it catastrophizing.
I call it bracing for impact
in a world that never learned
how to cushion my fall.

⸻

Depression leaves notes on my chest:
“Stay here.”
“You are safe in stillness.”
“Why speak when no one listens past the first sentence?”

Sometimes, I do not answer.
Sometimes, I agree.

⸻

I want love, but I carry
too many puzzle pieces
and no clear picture.
I want to be held
without being edited.

I want to give my best—
even when my best
is blinking at the wall
and remembering to eat.

⸻

And still…
they ask for boxes.

Are you woman?
Are you man?
Are you sure?

Yes.
No.
Kind of.
It changes.
It burns.

I’ve worn every name like a costume,
only to find my truest self
naked, genderless,
wrapped in stars and shadow.

You want a label?
Call me wildfire.
Call me glitch-born holy being.
Call me fluid,
and don’t pretend you know
where water ends or begins.

⸻

I am not “confused.”
I am contradiction
with conviction.
I am the ache that refused
to be silenced.

I am dysphoria and delight,
panic and performance,
a cathedral built on broken circuits
still ringing with prayer.

And I?
I am still here.

July 14th! New single !

Happy Monday !
Just a friendly reminder I have a new Lofi track out this Friday !
Also , Im honored to be nominated in a local awards ceremony. I believe you can vote daily for me in the experimental/electronica category of The Listen Up Awards
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I Appreciate the continued support !
Have a beautiful and blessed day !

#518