bow tie and collars
nice pair of suspenders
buzzcut and braid
wanna get laid?
***-tuned world
labels all swirled
high level of confusion
doubt and frustration
all the stigma about
sexuality gender who you are

we tell you where you fit
labels aplenty
let me name many
****, ***, thot, *****
these and much much more
*****, *****, and traitor
see you all later
*******, druggie, and ****
nerd, geek, emo, goth
****, ******, loner
crackhead and stoner
athletic and pretty
simple or ****
labels aplenty
go on, take your pick

Walk into the room
Daylight is streaming in through the windows and onto the wood flooring
Blue armchairs line the walls
A chess match is set up and being played by two boys
Both kid’s arms are lined with marks
One from burns, the other from cuts

A young boy with curly hair waves me over to him
He has few scars and a softer vibe which makes me approach him
A kid with a buzzcut walks over to us as we chat
And asks why I’m here
Topple over my words like he asked what kind of kinks I’m into
I go with something like compression? Suppression? Oh right, Depression

Soon, I have my story of how I got there, what I’ve done, what *****, etc
And I’m learning that buzzcut kid was locked in his basement for days by mom
We compare abuse and suicide notes
I asked him why he’s here
He just laughed and said, “I tried to overdose. I wanted to shoot myself, but I didn’t want to waste a bullet on myself.” Miss that kid.

I’d been there about a day, before I met “Texas”
A big 5’8, dude, with glasses and some blue plaid Pyjamas
He was loud, obnoxious, but loyal, and open to talk about our issues
I was very outspoken about being trans at the time
And he was a curious man, so he always asked questions
Which I wasn’t always chill with

He was very curious about “If I still had a ******” or “If I was planning on getting testosterone”
Which I still tried to answer, but I wasn’t excited about it
He became protective of me, when we became friends
I was a very open minded dude, with a similar personality
So we clicked alright, and he helped me fight for my own rights in inpatient
He was a good guy, despite his bad qualities

And then it was only later on in that first night, that I met...well...
I’ll call him Josh, like drake and Josh, cause that’s who he always reminded me of
Josh was the only other trans guy there, who I actually didn’t know was trans
And unfortunately but understandably, he wasn’t as open with sharing as I was
He later became my roommate, before having the what we called, “The Josh-Down”
He transferred rooms and then hospitals not long after the Josh-Down

There was something about the morning’s there
Walking into the dayroom, sunlight streaming in,
Breakfast cart full and ready to be passed out
The tv on, and cartoons being shown on screen
Kids half awake, and staff barking orders
The chaotic peacefulness was always my favorite thing

I get flashes of the hospital from time to time
Like now, as I walk into a classroom with other people
For a second, I’m walking into that room again,
Buzzcut and the kid with a soft vibe are waving at me
I feel the sun streaming in from the window on my the side of my face
And the corners of my mouth curl upwards

Turn to look at the sun, and when I look back, it’s just a slowly filling classroom
I was one of the lucky few, to survive
I got to stay at my school, and I’m alive, I have a home
At least three kids from the hospital either ran away or are on the run
Two are homeless
And I can only guess for the rest

The people/kids I met in that hospital, changed me
They changed my perspective on life itself
I don’t talk about it, but the people I met, showed me another side of the world
The side no one talks about
The side where kids have scars, burns, bruises, and more
The side where kids have traumas, disorders, and urges

The hospital is a hush hush subject
But it shouldn’t be
It changed my life, and continues to impact me everyday
It’s a place to heal and grow
It’s a place where kids can get a chance at getting better
Get a chance at seeing that sunlight

morning coco pops and
silence in the low house
we creep around the halls
a playground, a waterpark

whatever we wanted
until he appears in the doorway
caught rapid hand in biscuit tin
wraps us in his puce embrace

it is in the wind that blows across the cold north beach
it is in the rain that bids hydrangea bloom
it is in the golden crust that tops the rhubarb ****
and in the weight that comes with "see you soon"

buzzcut season in the air
wooden hearts are carved with care
arrows fly through misty skies
watch him climb the spiral stair

wrapped up on green fields
and blue skies, cotton couldn't
keep us warm through the
wintertime, laughter kept us
active, barefoot on hard tracks,
our lives were consumed by
three-minute-rhymes,
our hearts all melted for
the same person, her name
was carolyn, on the brink of
adulthood, we laugh until we
are drowning in tears just
thinking about those times,
blonde days, puppy love,
wintertime sunshine,
the closest of friends,
the lack of similar
bloodstreams and
the difference in
our skin tones
will not change the
      brotherhood
   that will last
for the rest
of our
lives


- t.m

grey eyes and gold buzzcut
psychopathic smile, tongue like candy
calloused palms, arms like a bomb shelter
wrapped in a bow of good intentions and charm
christmas came early that year,
you were all mine.

I got a buzzcut
It’s not exactly the same rut
It’s not suppressing dark, but
I’m still in the cell
And I think God has me dwell
So I can know everything well
I just thought I’d show
That I know
And I will go

It’s Harvard VS Yale this weekend, the vibes are just starting now. Everyone - and I mean everyone - has been asking about my game tickets, because guest tickets are $25 a pop. I’m more interested in the parties than the game, so I donated mine (Students get 1 free ticket and they can buy 2 for $15 each) to Lisa (one of my suitemates) for her family.

Lisa, Leong, Anna and I are getting ready to go down to the dining hall. Lisa asks the room, “Harry Styles’ new buzzcut - Yes, or No?”
“No,” Leong said, not looking up from her teen fashion magazine.
“Oh, no - God no,” I answered, “The worst decision of 2023.”
Anna blows a raspberry, “I think he’s trying to ditch his ‘pretty boy’ image and go hard rock.”
Lisa followed up, “And?..” “And NO, disaster NO, jump the shark NO,” Anna answered.
“I’m a NO also” Lisa admitted, and she’s a h-core Styles fan.

Later, Lisa was reclining on my bed, using every pillow I own to turn it into a chaise lounge that wouldn’t wrinkle her outfit. Her heels were on the floor and her bare feet were dangling in the air. Her toenails were a French tipped twinkly-pink.

She was slurping on a Coke-Zero - again - for a much-needed kick of caffeine before the night's events - which made me feel guilty, because she picked that up when I took her to Paris last summer. I’ve told her (a million times) how bad it is for her metabolism and endocrine system.
“How could you do this to me?” I asked, as if exasperated - which is currently our in-joke for everything.
“Now-now-now now-now,” she says, in self-defense, “what SHOULD I be drinking then?”
“H2-oh,” I say. “H20, as in water,” she sort of inquired, she then asked, “What’s the ‘2’ stand for?”
“Twenty,” I think, snarking back.
“Oh, you fancy, huh?” she laughed.
“I’m in college.” I shruggingly bragged.

I was shuffling through my closet, trying to pick out an outfit that would, at least, look ‘ok’ next to Lisa’s ‘in your face’ fun mix of pinks and purples sprinkled with neon greens.
Barbie herself could never.
I doubted I could keep with the theme.

My secret to dressing for these endless ‘theme’ parties, is to just tune out the noise and focus on your feels. If you give too much weight to how others will judge you, it’ll ruin the moment. I ended up wearing a vintage, deep blue, Betsey Johnson dress with matching tights and black ballet flats. Glittery, smokey-eye makeup and messy curls completed the 'très bien ensemble'.

I looked in the mirror, hoping for glam, and shrugged, “the scene’s going to be moody-lit anyway,” I said, as an excuse to the universe.

“You’re going to ******-der-der,” Lisa pronounced, as we gathered our bags to leave. “******-der-der?” I chuckled.
“******-der-der,” she confirmed, as if it were obvious.

h-core = *******

i listen to a song
with a purpose of its own
and give it another one
entirely
lines about living by pools
are my reality
verses recounting
explosions
dreamy young girls
and never returning
home
are the thoughts
that have plagued my mind
for years
and years

They say when you go through trauma
It either kills you
Or you forget it.
They don't tell you what to do
when the options blend.
There's no hotline to call
when the memories you've buried
claw their way back up your throat
like the pills that didn't work.
I am a causality of a war I never fought in.

I cut my hair short so I can wash it in the sink,
For the days when my shower turns into a tardis I cannot control,
A time machine with only one date.
I have grown sick of not finding refuge in this time and place.
When I shave my head,
I think of how impossible it is to pull a buzzcut.

I write the date on every piece of paper,
But I don't really live here.
The present is just a hideout from the past,
The future a threat of going back.
I am on the run.
A fugitive of broken memories and stolen hope.

I lock each door in my house
five times
before telling my mom goodnight.
I check underneath my bed,
Move the clothes in my closet
until I'm sure I can see every part of the back wall,
and leave its door open.
I bend my eyes into every corner and hollow spot.
I will not go to sleep.
I will dream myself awake.
I wake up in my bathtub time machine,
Raise my face through the surface of the red water,
My long hair wrapping itself around my throat like promises from a time when I still felt alive.
I will probably scream,
And find myself back in my bed.
My family won't hear a thing.

my good friends dog died. she was old and she liked to sleep next to the heater and they took her away and never brought her back. she told me in the first period locker rooms, when my buzzcut was still patchy from trich and unsteady hands and it was still cold outside. she cried and cried and told no one else. just me. no one posted pictures of her dead dog, said goodbyes, made instagram posts about it. she was just gone. we went to her house and her bed was empty and no one said anything. like she never happened. my friend was terrified of remembering her and i was terrified of forgetting her;

the hair lands, making black rings in the bathroom
it looks longer when it's severed
more alive on the floor than it ever was on my head
somehow more elegant framing the tile than my face

i just looked
not meeting my eyes in the mirror

when it was all gone
out of sight down the drain, or in the trash
i finally looked at myself

nothing softening my face
nothing distracting from my harsh features
nothing covering up my insecurities
nothing to hide my fear

but this way
it feels real

for my best good friend, who I love dearly. thank you.*

wild hair reaching for their hearts, she bleeds onto
the paper in runny rivulets like tears shed for the electric love
fleeing to the corners of the earth
off-target but shocked with excess

she weeps among the broken glass and ignores the mirrors
reflecting the afterthought that lies at the
end of each laugh or haircurl

heart thumping a metronomic beat to the hammers
building the palaces gleaming with sweat and preserved with salty tears

secret city under construction
eyes wet with worried incantations
pen scratching plasma onto the trees
hair alight defying the buzzcut season
in love with the sunbeams (and moon rafters)
that float with the dreams clinging to whispers

and everything glows in the haze while she closes her eyes
smiles dancing on the guitar strings
music on the heart pumping the
blood on the paper

and everything glows when she's there

our eyes starstruck on the moon rafters

normcore kid- head like a buzzcut on

other people. teeth inside his mouth.  moth heavy to the tongue like wings on wet windows.  we won't help him- not knowing he's cool.

i will be filled by the roadside. each passenger holding me steady- aiming at the next letdown.
fingers right around each other.feet together in dumb attention-

it's like seasons (changing)
only more worthlestheyre just here for the
****



around

Oh bright and shining spectacle!
Your ***** deal's done cheap;
With few parts missing, rock bottom bargain bin
Of the Saint Vee Dee ***

Aaron, a bleached buzzcut behind the counter,
rings up shirts and skirts by the bag full, for
old ladies shopping at a discount, trying
to brighten a two-room flat with curtain
printed flowers from 1969; for single
moms with their little ones unattended
breaking vases in the aisleways;
for bins of moldy records jamming
Mitch Miller sing along
against Electric Prunes and Strawberry
Alarm Clock in polyvinyl preserve,
and songs of lovers parted
years before he was born;
for bits of time and scenery lost —
the everyday is what's real.

A living foul breathed commercial museum —
Magic Kingdom jigsaw with pieces gone —
Salvation's soldier has no insurance.
Aaron closes store after six o 'clock,
he goes home and dreams
his teeth are broken.

Things are falling out onto the floor, bits and stuff- old hoover batteries
doing a bit of a jazzy buzzcut dance like jam hand sandwiches that moment where your
hands can’t skate fast enough and can’t stop tying themselves in knots
elephant trunk knots protruding precariously like weird plate show tunes breaking the moment, wave, pebble beach, ugh.
What a lovely space question mark, it is?
I thought you were blocks from fake eyebrow movements
the childhood adverts like many sided shapes  Michael Landy sheds his dose
Mavis plays the harmonica cha-cha-cha
the floor caves in but you don’t need it
you’re held up by sheer, pure spite, very little
IKEA scrambled eggs on toast this is how I scramble it, like bad cement mix
eyelid blink pin drop sounds like not fitting I hate your shoes, put them in the kitchen bin
and move me to the top of the wardrobe, I like to be very, very far from
the floor.

You were the chocolate sprinkles on my soft serve.

Burrowing into my chest like a sandcrab melting through saltwater and ocean city sand.

Fading into my body, until we became one gooey sticky sweet mess.

Such a beautiful summertime massacre.

I prefer the mountains in June. A cool evergreen breeze sighing through my buzzcut season.

This is what true royalty feels like, to sleep forever under the pines. A place we wanted to grow.

I shaved my head because I’m not yours anymore. Or theirs. I belong to my own shallow grave. So please, do not call me princess.

Disney did not forget to write my story, he was too busy creating women no one would ever receive.

My life has never gone according to plan, stopped praying before bed for my fairytale to fruition.

I created myself. A handsome hairless heroine. The tallest trunk at the peak.

Only faith I have left is in my own photosynthetic cells.

Feeling still a lingering winter. SPF cannot protect me from my own emotions.

I don’t need it to anymore.

Looking down at you from miles away like that man from lilo and stitch.

Sunburnt and confused.

Black sprinkles and ants slow dance on the concrete in my giant sugary shadow.

I wonder do the ***** still bury their troubles? I haven’t been to the beach in years.

You haven’t considered these sappy limbs a place to call home since then.

I always have and I always will.

Buzzcut to cut the buzz I dose
Cut ties with the side I delight
I cut my hair so they won’t stare
Giving into the plans of the Vendetta
Take the pain of VEIN and change the name