You won’t see me when I enter. The crystals of glass
gliding past as I ride a sliver of moon glow

through your window and crumple to your floor.
You won’t see me when I rise and survey

the scene. A foreign body by your side. Books you’ll never
read. I slip a gossamer thumb into your slumbered

mind. Let me finger through your dreams. Taste you
from the inside. I’m not sure why I chose to arrive. But I’ll move

an object enough to leave a mark. And now, like before. You won’t
see me. I leave quietly in the night. The last thing you’d want

is an encore.

Sleuthing drunkenly in a car home.
My nature subdued by the foul
nature of the world.
Gay club I leave my body hanging out to dry.
I can show every but ever moment of myself
and I love every send of it.
Belly is out.

The mere thought of you kissing or holding hands with someone else used to send shivers down my spine. If anything was able to make me furiously throw up, it was the thought of just that. However, only one week later, here we are, and this thought seems to soon be reality. How does this make me feel? Honestly, I cannot put it into words. Sad, hopeless, angry even. Things started out so ‘perfect’. How could everything fall down on me in pieces in the matter of a few days. I feel cursed. Like a spell has been put on me. Why does this world hate me so much? I really thought it was my time to finally be happy...

Not knowing if we would have worked out had I stayed in London.
Not knowing if you think about me as much as I think about you.
Not knowing if you ever thought about me all those days apart.
Not knowing if you had also wanted to kiss me that afternoon.
Not knowing if we would be together had I been born a boy.
Not knowing if it is me or my gender that is putting you off.
Not knowing if I will ever get to hold your hand.
Not knowing if I will ever get to kiss you.
Not knowing if I will ever see you again.
Not knowing if I will ever be with you.
Not knowing if I will ever be myself.
Not knowing if I will ever be you.