there is an empty stretch of highway somewhere deep in my bones cracked tarmac and faded center line
dandelions blooming up out of the divots of my sleepless nights and it is beautiful
and sometimes lonely like being 7 years old and knowing i like girls but also that i am not a girl and not having the words to bring that part of me to life
and the first time i kissed a girl flowers exploded out of every chip in my armor making me feel like i could build a home in my own body for the first time in 5 years
but everything burns eventually and flower stems become matches way too easily and a hollowness beyond dissociation something i couldn’t dig out no matter how hard i tried
and the first boy i liked i couldn’t tell if i wanted to kiss him or be him but both sounded pretty nice
and after the right man to make me stop being a lesbian turned out to be myself the first boy i kissed was on accident but i wanted to kiss him again and that stretch of highway seemed less lonely and more like it would accommodate two people holding hands walking side by side