When a little boy cries, we hold him and tell him,
“it’s okay”
But when he becomes a man, we push him away,
“hey now, don’t be ga..”

Yet you’re happy to be everything to everyone, even if it
gives the impression that it benefits you the most – bend
a bone to break yourself, to prove you belong.

But if a man breaks down being honest; be honest, he has
to prove himself – that his tears really belong to his struggles,
to fully showcase everything that is so wrong, to leave an
impression on everyone.

The darkness has counted and held most of my tears, along
with my fears that one day they’ll all be revealed.

Standing and meditating at the crossroads, looking at a tree and the sky for five minutes.

The expectation,
Of you to accept the inhalation,
Of the evaporation,
Of someone else’s waste.

Make it make sense,
How the walls of stalls,
Fail to reach its maximum highs and lows,
For all of us to share what we release.

We listen to the air,
That flubs between *** cheeks,
Just as the **** projects deuces,
Into the bowl that cups the sound of wind.

We hear the moans and sighs,
Of relief, constipation and strain,
As we urinate nearby,
Adjacent to the incomplete **** shack.

Make it make sense,
How tasting the gases,
Of Joe Blow, blowing out his insides,
Is a customary to our community.

A sociological experiment,
Deemed to generate sociopathy,
As we laugh at the flatulence,
And giggle at one’s vulnerability.

Merely a forgotten fact,
That we have been there too,
We go there every day,
And pretend that others don’t do the same.

And without a mere act of courtesy,
The space is left filthier than the last,
Because why be considerate for the next?
Someone’s job is to cleanse my waste.

Furthermore is the neglect,
Of faucets, soap and towels,
Aimed to **** bacteria,
That exits biological passageways.

Why oh why,
Must I be forced to study,
Why this is simply unacceptable,
This concept of oversharing?

Recurring stage fright,
Readily apparent,
When forced to **** beside men,
More than double my size.

I’ll simply never understand,
How by design,
What we wouldn’t do in front of house guests,
Is something we are urged to do in front of strangers.

Bonding,
With a bunch of hairy, overweight men,
Who clear their throats, bladders and colons,
In my personal space.

it showed
an utter disdain
for the conventions
of such an event
that they would
not toe the line
like the others
they proffered
none of the standard
shoulder-dipping
sidestepped shuffles
nor the exuberant
failing of arms
that have come
to be expected
of "good" dancers
those overused staples
that accompany such
predictable song choices
outdated and enjoyed
only ironically
this dance could not
faithfully manifest
their truth

they danced
not for that unnoticed
peripheral audience
but solely
to tell a story
to one another
instead they chased
cavorted and capered
with piggybacks
and fireman's lifts
arms-spread spinning
they became fireworks
their bodies
exploding apart
pulled together
breathlessly
slipping
   and stumbling
without a care
leaping shoelessly
from place to place
from song to song
ending always
in each other's arms

My mother dresses me in gowns,
stockings, fleece jackets,
She pulls my hair up into a ponytail,
sometimes braids it into conrows,
She spanks my *** when i mess it,
She scolds when my outfit is ***** or greasy,

My father lives in the South side,
He dresses me in a suit and tie,
He likes my hair in a bun,
On the weekends he likes me in sweatpants and a tee-shirt,
***** and greasy in his garage,

I like me having a choice,
I want me on overalls, shorts, jeans and african print on Sundays,
I like my hair messy and short,
I hate the society norms

do we conceive
each other
in such
different ambiance?
like how eyes aim
to see souls instead of faces,
bodies and flesh
how different our concepts
of beauty would be
detaching away
from the standards
and norms of society
such appearances are neglected
interiors over exteriors
if only we see thru things
beyond nakedness
bound from expectance
when one
does not feel a stranger
of her own skin
— g.c.

"- then i learned that society is broken, not me."