Navy coffee mug with dregs of
apple juice and *****
is stained with deliberate
plum colored lipstick
Black lined cat eyes
Narrow above the smoke
Only to smile,
if only just for a while
before gazing again into the navy abyss
deep, down further

wrinkled wretched writing hands
twist and bake like the
fingers of gnarled winter wood
in the Honest december sun.

and the scarlet berries of unknown descent
Pop like kernels of corn
under the intense heat of scrutinizing eyes
imploring, why?

and of course the leaves
shuddering in the wind
with thoughts unbearable!
like the winters to come,
the winter that is here
and the slow draining of
scarlet, fire, sunrise
down into grass conditioned to
be green
Be Green
no mind the poisons, we want unity!

down into the grass they sink,
dessicating and curling like
the tips of lung cells I know too well.

The term Bisexual
was coined in 1824.
Back in the days,
when Gender meant
what was in your pants,
not in your head.
Don’t try to tell me I am Pan!
Don’t bring me back to the stone ages,
When I tell you who I am.
Why do I say I’m Bi?
People then understand what I am,
Instead of trying to say I **** pans.
Because It feels just right,
Not too uncaring, not too tight.
Because I am bisexual,
And my love is my right.

Let’s get something straight
I’m not
Or at least, that’s a situation in question
But that’s not what I’m here for, you see
The acronym LGBT has a terrific little tail that everyone tends to trip over
And the conversations that transpire when I attempt to try the closet door
Leave me frequently swept under the rug
Maybe I’m just a little lost in translation
But they should know that identity is not orientation
And it can be tricky to articulate, so I don’t mind the extra explanation
But I’m telling you there’s a tipping point where you can’t expect me to take it
To tally up the talks I’ve had tearing apart the phrase
“So, genderfluid is like another word for bisexual, then, right?”
Because there’s already this his-and-hers internal tug-of-war
So tying in other types of ignorance just gets tiring at times
And trying again and trying again and again to get the point across
Leads me down a tangled train of thought that runs off the tracks in unclear tangents
Because conversations transition without the intended amendments
Because these transcripts would transcend the usual transfer of data
Into transgressions and obsessions with more than I’m able to
Confirm or confer without temperamental reactions
Feeling entirely translucent overlooking their infractions
Wondering why more words aren’t composed in a way that allows them
To be transposed to neutrality or at least farther from
Specific definitions testing how gendered things can get
Wondering why I don’t make any sense yet
[Breathe]
Let me be perfectly queer
The acronym LGBT has a tetrad attraction detailing at least part of this
Just a trifle of understanding if you’re looking to comprehend it
And if you don’t care to learn then don’t bother to ask
But take some time from your day and I’ll try to make it fast
Go ahead and interrogate, I don’t mind all that much
Whatever trips your trigger, as long as it’s not pointed at us
I can’t speak on behalf of every transgender teen
But if you don’t know a word, I can tell you what I mean
I can text you a trillion terms to absorb
Or trim down the lesson to the basics if you’re bored
But don’t tell me that pronouns are a hassle to learn
When they catch in the throats of those just waiting their turn
To stop hiding their tears and be treated the same
Teaching one person at a time until the world hears their true name
Don’t expect trophies, but I’ll give you my thanks
Don’t tease us about the clothes that make our spines and souls ache
I want to wear this letter T like a cross from my neck
Saying the prefix trans- means across and I like it like that
Traversing the spectrums and binaries all mixed
Transcontinental, transatlantic, transfixed
By the beauty in boys and the glamour in girls
But mostly the neithers and boths in this world
Don’t tell me it’s a transient, temporary tale
Or that I’m totally enamored with getting off the most followed trail
I’m taking back traumas and tense muscles and taunts
Until tentative trespassers give us what we want
A presence, a voice, and all human rights
It shouldn’t be a privilege to feel safe at night
Don’t tiptoe around troubles, just stand with us here
Add a voice until we trumpet our triumphs and cheers
Take my hand, hear my voice
Listen, learn something new
Because LGBT has a cross and
Cross my heart
I’m with you

She isn't my sister,
the girl from Ohio.
Biologically we are no kin.
But her blood smeared against asphalt
has shimmering dots
revealing that
We are family.

This is to her and others like her.
The ones from before
and the ones after.

My sister will never hear these words
But as long as its known

I love her.
Even if the world wasn't ready for her.

I feel that to write
I cannot go on
For now, my time, I do not know
I could be gone
Or I could be home
A speech of such loss
Of words, of lust
It is lost, absent for good
A paperweight on your coffee table
The letters on my wall
I feel that to speak
I cannot, to you, anymore
Many more years from now
Has no meaning at all
For the moment, in my room
There are no more thoughts
For the day, it is over,
The evening will forever be

pacify my mouth with a white-knuckled fist
and kiss my scars with a tongue void of emotion
squeeze my knees together with hands too bruised to hold
with my shaking fingers
will the knots around my neck
  squeeze me like you do
    and leave bruises like you do
the ends of your hairs tickle me
along the sides of my neck
and tell me to scream
tell me to scream
scream when you leave me alone after dark
scream when the burn of alcohol no longer stings my lips
scream when the bags under your eyes turn into luggage
    stationed next to the front door
your hands around my neck tightens like the knots never could
and the luggage looks like heaven
and somehow i find myself in the inside of your suitcase

my feelings overflow
with nowhere to go
waves smashing against the breakwater
spraying sea foam
a cacophony no one can hear but me
because it's roaring
inside my head

It was 3 o'clock in the morning
and everything hurt.
There were ads for some movie I now vowed never to see
because I saw the freckles on your face in every dot above the "i",
I saw your arms spread eagle
the last time I saw you yelling
in every lower case "t",
I saw myself in every capital and lowercase "P"
because I can't remember
how many sentences I started or ended with "please"
and just in case
I wanted to cover all ground.
Not like spreading myself across the cement
because I don't quite want to jump,
but you were the only rooftop I've ever visited
that I haven't felt the urge to leap off of.

You, with the soft heart and heavy tongue,
you with the debatable blueprints but wonderful execution,
you with the kaleidoscope eyes and binoculars in hand.
I saw the potential of how much I could fall in love with you;
you didn't have to be the building with the most windows,
you didn't have to be that small flower shop
with the butterfly stickers next to the bank,
you didn't have to be the mistletoe
in the middle of a dimly lit street.  
You just had to be the rooftop to show me it was there.

But when the depression hit,
you locked the door
and I was stuck in the stairwell
staring through the windowpane,
trying to remember what the streetlights looked like in the dark
but you were so certain that everything shut off when you did
and you didn't want me to be sad too.
I tried to remind you
that when the sun comes up again,
everything will still be there,
everything will come alive in the morning
you just have to stay intact long enough to see it.
But I couldn't stay awake long enough to stop you from crumbling.

I woke up to rubble,
yellow police tape and detectives,
crowbars prying your locked door open.
I got invested
and now I'm being investigated
and interrogated
and "WERE YOU THE ONE WHO PUT THE BOMBS HERE".
No sir,
I only told him I couldn't stay awake for him.
I didn't mean to make him think
that I would rather be unconscious
than watch him self-destruct,
I just meant I felt comfortable enough
to wait until he opened the door for me again.
But he can't now.

And I can't lock my doors anymore.
"Aren't you afraid of what you'll let in?"
I'm more afraid of what's being let out.
Your ghost follows me around
and is far too large to fit through the dog door,
and I don't want to look at you when you leave.
So I stay right where I am,
sitting on top of my roof
but your cement blocks will never feel the same
as my slate shingles.
I would rather be made rubble by your ruin
than made shelter for someone else.
When I shut down,
the streetlights are still on,
that means the sun will rise
and I with the heavy heart and soft tongue,
I with flawless blueprints but too anxious to start,
I with the color-blind eyes and microscope in pocket,
will try again in the morning
to not look so much like the police lines you left.