warm rains

you brushed your hair back and i
proceeded to
try to give you evidence as to why
i was so super cool.

warm rains made for us a pool to play,
and we entered each other under the streetlights.
i remember i wanted to
extol your value and extinguish my virtue,

that night made me feel alright, (that's understating it)
and i remember the way your lower back bristled at my touch,
we were both mutants, beloved of Frankenstein,
cast outside our timeline.

tennis

back and forth
like tennis baby
or battleship.
on top of
inside of
over the clothes
behind the back...

you ticked every box
left the faucets on
lit a fucking match
and walked away.

i hope there's a bruise
and i hope
someone pokes you in it
to remind you of me.

party

she bit the inside corner of her mouth as the party raged on,
the din elicited a certain confidence by drowning out the pauses,
constant chattering and laughter.
it made her relax her mechanical posture to sub-marionette levels,
it shaved her trachea without ever touching a scalpel,
her voice pitch perfect.

she burned the dress,
she burned the house down,
with hips like ka-pow
they made a mess.

and in the morning there were no closets left to hack to pieces,
there was a pile of people delighting in their differences,
and/or similarities.
it made her punch that card one last time before leaving,
it freed up precious days and hours over a lifetime,
to not have to try.

he made her cry,
but in a good way this time,
each giving permission
without asking why.

and i awoke to hammering inside my delicate little head,
i threw on whatever clothes may have fit me (or not),
and got the fuck out of dodge.
do i lie to myself every day like we all do, or is it
that i just lie to you or let you sort out the clues?
releasing the mystery.

i put it all out there,
my novel written backwards,
because i somehow survived
which is wholly unfair.

mother's day

i spent so long
trying to be anything but her
without realizing what was good:
my ferocity
my pluck and passion
and my soft sloping shoulders all came from her.

gunshot wound

i learned to run because
crawling didn't get me there
fast enough or far enough away.

i wonder how many times i was
made to feel small to fit into
each hamper or crawlspace.

this is about using my supports
this is about losing illusion
this is about accepting
this is about wartime blues in an ocean of orange and blue.

i soldered my guts together
instead of loosing them again
and walked away without pause.

i stopped the bleeding this time
on my own and without sutures
or wads of gauze.

this is about giving up
this is about letting go
this is about swearing
this is about baring my teeth at the next fucking dog i see.

loose leaf

i drew a picture today on loose leaf
and let it go to the winds
to biodegrade like i will.

i packed up a life in two days
drove for two more
and changed my mind again.

and i know i shouldn't, but i will
beat myself black and blue over it
whether it was the correct thing
to do or not.

the picture was of my first erection,
which smiled back at me
as i looked on horrified.

so i'll pack up a life in a day
drive for two more
and leave that leaf to the winds.

sleeves

i wear my closet on my sleeve
everyday
soft chin, soft eyes hiding daggers
ready to cut you a new smile.

i can sit in this room for days
and i bet never
hear one of them admit
what gets their heart rate up.

this closet is the size
of an entire town
set sideways, spreading out
like a dropped egg.

and culture is just
sanctioned behavior;
eyes forward, ever forward
urinals and cubicles.

i cut off my sleeves today
and it was freeing
to walk around, tough as fuck
feeling my shoulders.

they don't need to know
a glamazon
a chimera in heels
to know they don't get it.