dear —,
this is not divinity-
no empty pillowcase cape can make you fly
no lipstick can make you beautiful no girl can make you girl no
boy can’t make you boy
no night time prayers can make you god
girl,
you can’t hate yourself into a revolution
or love yourself into a label
boy,
bi-
child.
binary gendered thing
bipolar botched up baby with hit hard head
bisexual? still denying: gay **** queer ***** ***** *****
bi.
j,
this is no caution tape finish line-
no period can finish your seesaw story,
child,
sadness sometimes stretches like
semicolons or wet cement
flowing through this blood, waiting for the moment to harden
to cave you into yourself
to sink into nose too wide, heart too big, space
too much
you growing soul,
with samson strength put all
in two places
just because that ****** pillowcase can
catch your tears doesn’t mean
you will always be only to catch
You,
stand.
have you prayed your own salvation so much you’ve forgotten how it feels to
open your eyes
?
held yourself long enough your back can’t crack open again
?
searched solutions for phantoms so you can only see yourself problem
?
have you written so many poems that you expect me finished
here?
•••
darling,
not every poem has a conclusion
not every poem needs one.
and not every person is prose
where the solution wraps itself into a bow
you can’t keep conflict with yourself until it does
love,
sometimes the answer will pass through
falling failing chests and
pressed pastor palms
sometimes the answer isn’t prewritten
picture book in black and white/boy and girl
sometimes it’s You
somewhere in between-