i could never go to war.
i could never shoot, or help someone who will.
those soldiers on the other side, are just like me.
their mothers cry, i can almost hear it.
their best friend will never hear their laugh.
their room lay empty, an unused bed,
dust-covered books they never read.
young men go off, **** other young men.
if you're very lucky, you'll see your son again.
i could never go to war.
my grandfather narrowly avoided the draft,
he was a teacher.
his high school friend got expelled,
and within a week,
he was dead.
his mother cried.
he was nothing but a name on a plaque,
and barely that.
i could never go to war.

Tonight my parents were out of town.
I didn't have a party,
I didn't do drugs,
I made soup and washed dishes,
My brother went to bed.
I headed upstairs,
My parents' door was unlocked,
And I just,
walked in.
I don't know what I was looking for,
I just was looking,
I knew I shouldn't,
But if there was anything that could tell me,
Anything I could learn,
About them,
Any way to be closer.

I found old love notes in a box
Hidden under my dad's socks,
And the box my brother used to propose
To the woman who broke his heart.

I found old photos,
Ones I hadn't seen in years,
I wished I could be their kid again,
It was so much easier then.

I knew I should go, but I found something else,
A necklace in a gold paper case,
I put it on, and it felt like my mom.
Sturdy, and heavy, but elegant, and beautiful.

I left everything as it was found,
I never meant to invade,
But there's too much privacy,
Too many things unsaid.
I guess I just wanted to know.

He stands at the precipice of their design,
Losing something in the night air.
The edge by which he stands is still and cold.

My ribcage hurts but I don’t want to admit it.
It just feels so nice.
To have a flat chest.
To be a boy.

I'm afraid of myself
I'm afraid of myself
I'm afraid of myself
I'm afraid of what I used to be

When we are old,
And my legs are too weak
To twirl for you,
And my cheeks are wrinkled
From laughing with you,
And my hands are rough,
From the tools I've used,
And my memory is fading,
From the damages of age,
And your arms are too weak
To toss me into the lake,
And your eyes are yellowed a bit,
From the nights we stayed up drinking,
And your voice is raspy,
From talking for hours upon years,
I will still be in love with you.

I look at my chest the way I'd look at a wound
I know it's a part of me,
I know it's there,
But it feels temporary,
And a little gross,
Like when I sliced my thumb
On glass at 1am.
My binder is a bandage
And it's hard to take it off,
Because I feel the wound open up,
And my back hurts from wearing the bandage,
But it's so much better than
Seeing where my skin splits in two

to me,
you are
an art

                              to you,
                              I was
                              a tragedy