A sea like no other sea.

Theater of the Odyssey,

and of Cleopatra and Anthony.

The sea  

of war and of peace.

Cradle of known civilizations,

and jealous keeper of secrets

of civilizations yet unknown.



To me, it is simply

the sea

where I took my first swim,

panicked and sunk like a stone,

pulled down by the wrath of Poseidon,  

that eternally angry god of the Greeks,

who, it was said, lived a thousand fathoms below.

But a strong hand quickly snatched me, lifted me up,

and at the surface I saw a reassuring face smiling at me.

My father was standing in chest deep water,  

and I heard him saying,

“son, you got to keep your legs and arms moving.”



To me, it is simply

the sea  

where I fell in love with the Mediterranean blue,

where I lingered long summer hours at the shore

lazily dreaming,

about people and lands  

beyond the faraway infinite line,

that elusive border  

separating two magical shades of the azure.

Awkward and lanky,

not a boy and not yet a man.

Youth, litheness; potential

and yet, still teachable.

there's a boy in my class who's sick
and his hair has already fallen out in chunks
and his eyebrows are thinning
and his skin has turned to flaking paper.

there's a boy in my class who's sick
and he doesn't come to school as often anymore
and though he used to be gifted, his grades have dropped
and his eyes are just two empty pools of water.

there's a boy in my class who's sick
and i wish i knew him more to offer comfort or aid
and decipher if that smile on his lips is fake or not
and tell him I care. because i do.

there's a boy in my class who's sick
and my cheeks used to flush whenever i saw him
and i used to write poems about his blonde locks
but i never confessed because it doesn't even matter anymore.

there's a boy in my class who's sick
and i worry that one day
i'll never see him again.

The boy I met on the river bank
Told me a truth
Unasked, unruth -

How do you smile
without a fake?
As if,
To cast a fire
And burn on a lake.

they call me she
they call me a liar
they tell me that im not trans
they tell me that I should be set on fire
They call me a sin
They call me fake
They tell me that ill never win
They call me a ****
They call me a creep
I'm just expressing my gender identity.
I just want to *** in the right restroom.
What
The
****
Do
You
Mean
By
That?

Door opens. It’s a party.  Two girlfriends, dressed to the nines,  leave their partners and retreat to the powder room.
You think my guy sees what I’m wearing?
Think mine does?
Let’s swap dresses and see what happens.
In an urban minute they walk over to the bar.
Male, good looking but going on sixty: Didn’t I see you two on some catwalk?
What, the dress or me?
Good question, not sure I would recognize you without.
Girls walk on to the dance floor.
Woman, tattoo-faced, XTC-eyed: Didn’t I see you two in the tattoo parlor?
Sure, dress feels like it’s on us to stay.
Don’t worry, my eyes are lasers.
Go peel a banana.
Girls find their boys.
Boys: What you said is right, music’s too loud to say anything.
Then don’t say it.
Did I say something wrong?
Girls decide to swap back.
In an urban minute they’re back and bump into their boys.
Sweeties, something the matter?
What would that be?
Looks like you went and changed.