awkward questions, awkward stares
told that i'm putting on airs
written out of all the prayers
i don't fit into the squares

Bedroom’s painted fisherman’s blue

There’s a cut out of Hayden Panettiere naked in a pink bikini with a hula-hoop on the back of the door

Copies of British Vogue desperately hidden underneath the bed accompanying an empty bottle of Glen’s

Manchester United duvet cover and matching pillows to boot

The bin’s filled with pre-packed home-made lunches from the last six months

Wardrobes a collection of ill fitting blue jeans bought for me by grandmother and football jerseys for teams that I’ve never even heard of, yet let alone see play a single game

Uniform ironed and sitting out ready for school on Monday at 8am sharp

***** clothes cover mostly all the floor smelling of Lynx’s finest even though there’s an empty laundry basket just waiting in the corner to be used

Inside one of the woolen blazer’s (that is way too big for me) pockets a single unopened ****** and an AES 256-bit encrypted USB stick

An old PlayStation 2, with a single controller; games including FIFA years through 2004 to now, Tom Clancy’s Splinter Cell, and GTA.

Blood red shoplifted lipstick that’s now melted hidden in the little secret compartment at the back, meant for network expansion.

Artemis Fowl, Alex Rider, and Harry Potter all adorn the bookcase

Physics, Maths, and IT textbooks remain firmly closed on the desk in addition to a smashed phone from me and Daddy’s last “physical altercation”

Lady Gaga’s “I Like it Rough” is playing in the background on repeat…

dear quinn,

goodbyes are hard
but staying will be harder
just let go

it's okay

love,
atlas

Before
In a time I can't remember
There was nothing but dark

Then you arrived
A sun to light up my world
Water to keep me alive

You were sweet like honey
With the right amount of sour
To keep things interesting

I made a mistake

I told you who I am

You may be supportive, sure
But you'd never change
For someone, you claimed to love

I was tossed aside
While you ventured out
For you next conquest

How could you
Someone as broken as me
Break me even more?

***** and Quims should be worshiped.

For whichever you have, dictates how the rest of your life shall be.

To those who biologically have both, how like gods you seem to me.

To those who spiritually have both, what cursed and barren, in-between lands stock we.

It's days like these
And girls like her
That make me think I could be okay to stay
Inside my shell.

It's days like these
And boys like him
That make me almost want to stay
To avoid association.

i went to the doctor today

i cried before i went in
not because of the doctor

but because of my father

he tells me i have to grow my hair out
i have to be a good little girl

i'm not his little girl
i was only pretending

i am me
genderqueer
short hair

i will not grow out my hair
for his ****** up ideals
of the perfect daughter

when i am not his daughter
at all

I wet the whistle first, then blow
(my algorithm will let you know—)

And then my bot will rob you blind
in the name of humankind.

Which means there exist no more than two genders;
both of them are Truth's defenders . . .

and Eric Ciaramella didn't **** himself.