the trance of sorrow
      falls flat; behind,
           the universal joke.
                and behind the universal joke,
                     the trance of sorrow.

then the weekend comes
and goes

and we remain,
questioning,
yearning to be

disappointed.

To fit well
into this scheme,
my slice of hell --
my wasted dream.

Never fit
the social stencil --
messy colors,
lines in pencil.

Could not see
that I was strange,
nor feel free
within their cage.

On the fringes,
binary fear
oft impinges
upon the queer.

No context,
bridge, or adapter:
gender/***,
and person after.

Categories
supersede
humanity
in word and deed.

Life between
the lines, beyond
median, mean,
and mode is odd.

On the fringes,
binary fear
oft impinges
upon the queer.

i dont wear bras

          my **** will look great when im old

i gave up on makeup

          unless its a special occasion or my friends are convincing

my fingernails and toenails are clean

              nail polish prevents your nails from breathing

ive outgrown my asthma

       my lungs rise and fall

          so deeply, so freely

since i was 15

   there has always been a boy in my life

          i intend to cross that off the list too

Means
"I am sausage"
in Spanish

The error is
   somewhere between
                  the keyboard
                           and the chair

We ****.

I brushed her hair just
the other day
and left stinging
handprints on her
eager flesh like she
loves.

Loved her in an
undertow of
blankets and throes,
fullness and
folds

until the drums
pounded in my
ears and
the adrenaline
burned.

On altars,
in tombs,
the sabbats,
esbats and
moons.

We slap
each other
     for fun;
     she listens
when I tell
her to
.

I'm sure you and
your mate do just
fine,
but

we **** better
than all of you
combined.