They keep asking us where we were
last night and we
Could tell the truth
but where's the fun in that?
The world wants answers and we've only
got big dreams and
empty stomachs.
So what do you want to be when you grow up?
Your smile is all teeth.
Someone.
Getting high,
Getting loved,
Getting glamorous on
thrift shop discounts.
Getting plastered.
You'll write your confessions
in the fog on windows,
and worship
deaf gods.

With quicksilver tongues and
eyes like mercury,
We can't wind
the years back
but
we sure as hell can try.

she had always said
her favorite color was yellow
for the girl with buttery skin and crystal eyes
it seemed rather fitting
yellow was the color of sunshine
and the color of her hair
after it had been bleached by summer
it was the color of the bumblebees
that drank from her favorite flowers
flowers that now
line her grave

she told you
her favorite color was yellow
because she knew you needed someone
radiant with light
to ease the depth
of your own darkness
so she said
when autumn arrived
you could watch the ground
become littered with yellow leaves
together

when you asked what color
lie beneath her skin
she told you it was yellow
she made herself believe
her body was freckled from stardust
and not from the amber glow
of cigarette burns
she still said
her favorite color was yellow
so she could continue being the light
in your colorless world

soon enough
your favorite color was yellow too
but not for the same reasons
she fell in love with it
you only saw yellow vaguely
in the form of teeth
stained from tobacco and too much coffee
smiling grimly through cracked lips
dripping poisoned honey
you guilded the word ¨love¨
with muted ochre lies

and now
she no longer feels the warmth
that once emanated
from her favorite color
she no longer tastes
the sweetness of butterscotch
and papaya on your lips
for you left her with nothing but
the sour residue of lemons and bile
as your gentle breath
extinguished her golden flames
and reduced her heart to ash

and now
she realizes that bumblebees
can also administer a piercing sting
and as she watches the sunset
with its amber hues
she no longer sees
the color yellow


x.

do you know how it feels
to be like me-
to lie and fight the wrongness
of your skin and bones
to feel fake
like an alien inhabiting your own shell
like a square peg in a round hole.
your face is a mask,
your name, a false label.
the most devastating betrayal is
the betrayal of your voice.
other parts feel empty, missing,
broken, burdensome, weak.
an inextinguishable sadness
lingers in your veins-
just enough to sting.

do you know how it feels?

i think you do

you are a human
your body is also a
prison

i feel like i cant breathe
most of the time

maybe its the tight binder
on my ribs
maybe its the suffocating thoughts
that tell me im not good enough
maybe its all the stares
that i know are questioning my gender

i wish i could tell you it gets easier
every time someone calls me a girl
when im wearing all mens clothes, a binder, and short hair
but it doesnt
it gets worse

so much worse

no matter the effort i put in
how hard i try
to present as masculine as possible
at the point where i cant even
see anything feminine about myself anymore

im always seen as the thing
that will always break me down

sometimes i think
it would be easier to take it all back
say im a girl and dress like one
at least then
ill be seen as how im trying to

ill hide behind a mask
say im something that im not

because arent i doing that already?
saying im okay and that it doesnt matter
when someone calls me a girl?
putting on  fake smile
and act like it doesnt feel
like someone took my spirit
and covered it
with the wrong color paint

i feel like i shouldnt be myself
most of the time

At times I feel socially awkward
hiding away those eyes from contact
mumbling and stuttering
as though I were stumbling,
upon the words as I was discovering.

Please don’t think I don’t want to talk
when I rush out,
Please don’t think I don’t want to talk,
when I don’t open your messages.

I escape out of nervosity
I feel the fuzziness in my head
butterflies in my stomach
nervosity in my nerves
lack of air in my lungs
tremble in my muscles
and the gritting of my teeth on my nails
as it drains every ounce of energy out of me.

I hide behind shadows
so I don’t encounter any social interaction.

No matter how many times I plan
and play a conversation in my head
I shudder and fret in reality,
making myself look like an awkward mess.

I want to be friends
I want to say hi
but the words do not escape
for I feel tongue tied.

I feel conscience and dreadful
for being such an awkward mess
choking on words
unable to let them
escape my tongue.

I am thinking
more than I am speaking
I can have a conversation in my head
but somehow, I find it difficult in reality.

But then you reach out
and make the first move
It makes it easier;
only to find myself
being an embarrassment once again.

But you don’t judge
you play it cool
and remain patient
you still show an eager to talk
and maybe that was what I needed
to be comfortable and me.

When we're in the car
After we had an argument
And I know he's stressed
When he doesn't understand why our sister is on medication
Or why somedays I don't get out of bed
Or why we're back in court
Or why our parents are divorced
Or why my mother cries
Or why sometimes I have to parent him
Take care of him


Sometimes
On quiet nights
I hold my brothers hand
Because when I was young
I would've done anything
For anyone to tell me anything was okay
That I wasn't going crazy
That sometimes people just hurt
Sometimes I hold my brothers hand
Because when I was young
I would've done anything

For someone to hold mine