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 Jul 2015 Steven Muir
Skypath
Your fingers pull at shower-soft hair
Getting longer but not too long
Your eyes are dry but so is your tongue
Because you can’t find it in you to cry

Your chest is tight but it’s not the shirt you wear
It’s your ribs closing in on your lungs.
Your insides are crushed beneath the weight of their words
Pronouns buried like landmines beneath your skin
There’s a sickness inside you
Gnawing on your bones
Black tar sticky in your stomach
A violence pressing against your organs

You’ll feel better when you’ve changed your body
When your voice is deep and there’s hair on your jaw
You can take your shirt off at the beach
And flirt with girls at the coffee shop

Until then there’s no one who can understand
No one to get why you stand before the mirror
Running your hands over your flattened chest
Or practice walking like there’s something between your legs

No one asks why you’re not happy with cancer
Because no one is happy with cancer
But no one understands that your dysphoria
Is a sickness
And its terminal
You were never sure if it was the light in the room
but you told me;
You did not even need to squint to see a 12 year old boy.
And I could breathe then.
And only then.
At 22.

I read how you were struck off
for professional misconduct.
But it was just the right amount of intimacy
I needed to feel close.
I had no one.

You took my payment one month in advance.
I arrived early for every session
because I had nothing else to do.
Loitering on the doorstep.
You recorded our sessions, making tentative notes,
never at the expense of eye contact.
Lightly commenting how my feet dangled from the arm chair.
Unlikely I would grow much more-
you left your tone open for my interpretation,
like my growing, or not growing,
was neither here nor there.
 Jun 2015 Steven Muir
mike dm
and friendship is underrated

the more you Romeo-n-Juliet things
the less you see of your surroundings

*** isolates
friendship joins
a crowd a fest all one voice rolling

******* is the mt. top
friendship is the foothill

climb too high
death will meet you at the top

thinned air petrified growth
thrumming bountiful growth

******* promises ****
that it can't follow through on

friendship just is

effing flakes out
friendship stakes out
waits listens doesn't try to fix

eff **** buddies
i need more friends

let's all get high on friendship

...

..

i mean
uhm
im still gonna ****

but

i jus need more friends
"Is it a choice to be Ace?" She asks.
I don't know,
Is it a choice to be a race?
"Umm... Maybe you are just slow,
I am sure you will like *** someday!"
Why can't they just believe me?
I am Ace, it is my way.
Is it really that hard to see?
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