We were sitting in a restaurant
Table set for two
One of those single couple booths
Perfect for me and you

We spoke of money and
I refused to let you pay for me
Maybe I have too much pride
But I’m not who your ex used to be

The overhead lights reflected perfectly and
I was sure that you were not a mistake
Your ocean eyes vibrated my soul
And then I spilled my milkshake

Blood rushed to my face
And I looked away in shame
But then I heard you laughing
And something in my heart changed

Somehow you weren’t embarrassed
Or uncomfortable with my lack of grace
But instead that heart-shattering smile
Was plastered across your gorgeous face

And then you surprised me yet again
As you opened up your soul out of the blue
And though you spoke nonchalantly
I knew those thoughts were haunting you

I painted versions of your stories
Across the walls of my mind as you spoke
Memorizing the imagery and your feelings
About your insufficient social support

And while I know I can’t be everything for you
I can try to be better than the last
So you have somewhere safe to run
When you need to escape your broken past

Because although the table spanned miles between us
And we were connected only by our fingertips
I could feel our souls grazing one another
As they tangled together in electric riffs

At that very moment
Staring into your eyes, gold and blue
I felt the first real chance
That I might truly love you

My sun: setting more beautifully than any sky in sunny California,
though I haven’t seen one in so **** long.
I’m starved for your attention, won’t you shine on me a little brighter, babe?
I know you miss the waves when you’re up north; I know you shiver in September
and that it’s too soon, that you should still be able to show off those tan lines but
if you stay here with me I’ll love you like I’m the moon. Let’s not make our love
something that they can only see occasionally. Let's outlast the summer.

i crave touch and affection
as any human does
but i am reserved, an observer, an introvert
i am content to spend an entire day cuddled up
with someone who feels the same way i do
on a rainy day like today
there is nothing more i want
than to feel
to feel alive
to feel loved
to feel connected
to not feel alone

While I likely have no rhythm
and tend to trip over my feet
that would hold back a dance.

While I have debilitating anxiety
that highlights others’ stares
I may still give it a chance.

No, see, the reason I won’t dance
has way more to do with my body
and the fact that I’m trans.

As I move through the world
I feel the weight of my identity
in both physical and mental distress.

Of course everyone has baggage
that doesn’t stop them from jiving
but not everyone has to carry it on their chest.

Dancing requires movement of my entire frame
but the person I see in my head
isn’t the one that light reflects.

How can I move without highlighting
the feminine figure my clothes conceal?

How can I jive
while hiding how my chest wiggles?

Can they tell?
Girl?
Guy?
What do they see?

The questions anchor my body to the ground
So I cannot move.
I cannot dance.

A plastic spoon trembles the way something so ashen should
sustaining the weight of a mountain of coffee grains
pointlessly arching a stiff back until its head can grace the cold counter
to evenly distribute the pressure of Everest
or to satisfy itself with the snapping of an artificial spine
like if it couldn’t be a knife it didn’t want to be anything
like she was born hungry and I was born an empty plate.
I contemplate how the smell of dirt and coffee ring in your nostrils the same way
thick and Earthy
like last night
digging up the soil and leaving it to bake beneath our fingernails.
She pours me a cup as if I’m staying for much longer
and despite the milky fog
I gulp the liquid in my mouth and let it boil between my teeth
smiling the whole time.

I try to remember this bed and how her skin blends right in
how coffee stains and blood stains and bleach can all hum in unison here
and the springs laugh every time she tells a joke
and her tank-top trails off her shoulder longingly
like it’s just seen something opalescent skirt around the corner of the room.
She dips her fingers into my hair briefly
asks what time my flight leaves again
asks if I can stay
and I notice how close the ceiling is
with its top hat and wand
to severing my chest in two
so that half of me can walk out
and half of me can stay.

We drag each other to the door
once half passed five is blinking red in our faces
screaming at us from every clock in the room
and how dare I take the time still
to leave lipstick on the side of her face,
in case she forgets,
with the sunrise rushing me out,
but when she lets the door open
and the air welcomes itself in,
chomping at nothing,
I don’t let go of her hand.

Drip, drip, dripping.

Such that of a broken faucet.

Twisted in all directions,

Hoping that the flow would stop.

Yet;

It lessens, but never ceases.

Time shall come,

When the faucet reaches its breaking point,

It'll all pour out.

Flooding;

Drowning;

*Drip, drip, dripping.