Sapphic Antagonist
Apologies to the one who knew.
Even when I recounted my testimony,
discrediting the rumors,
denouncing the “lesbo” label
that came from walking the halls,
laughing with you.
You could sense my denial,
Discerning what about me
was true and what was
survival.
Do I accept Dorothy’s friendship?
Knowing a “no” to her is to self reject.
”A cry for help”
What if it is?
Help me see myself as worthy,
Not the definition of sin.
”You better get your head on straight”
Guidance so poetic
Mask the desire
repression,
depression
Always envious of your integrity
Even as kids, you showed no mercy
You laughed at their lies
and saw right through mine
I’m grateful for you, for being so visibly free
As if for the very first time, I saw a glimpse of me.
But when I reflect on the weight of the burden,
knowing the cost of your freedom
came with hazing and hurting.
You took the beatings while we all hid,
The Bystander Effect
playing out in the gym
staying silent in your suffering
to create a distraction
to keep my name off their lips,
losing track of lectures
daydreaming of your lethal kiss
And here in this vision,
I dance with you
Moving to a rhythm that for once,
I knew.
A freestyle flow in a sea of synchronous steps,
Not giving a fuck what anyone says.
If you ever look back and perceive me to have labeled
you an experiment,
please no, this is my biggest regret,
to think of having caused you pain
because when I looked at myself,
all I saw was my shame.
The irony
At the end of the day
Is you were right all along,
I’m
really
fucking
gay.
You Were Glowing
in Granada
I’ll always remember the smell of the olive trees,
and the shimmer of your smile under the Andalusian sun.
“We made it,” you said,
knowing you were referring to both
a destination and a state of being.
As if beginnings and endings
danced to a decrescendoed flamenco
the movements: braceo,
hands rewriting history
in a sensual, circular flow
stomping in certainty
sensed in the swaying of the poplar trees,
as the wind caressed their leaves
the same way you ran your fingers through my hair -
gently,
far more a wonder
than Alhambra to me.
Call Me an Architect ‘Cause Gender is a Construct
There’s (they),
and there’s (she) -
an occasional (he).
And depending on what day it is,
sometimes there’s me:
formerly known as the version
you
wanted me to be.
But now I go by:
Pronouns: Any
First name: Fuckthatshit
Last name: I’mDoing-Me.
Kansas:
“The Sunflower State”
Sunflowers are composite flowers.
Meaning —
what looks like a single flower
is actually a community
of hundreds,
sometimes thousands of individual flowers.
Together,
they not only reach toward the sun —
they mirror it.
To be trans
is to be a sunflower
Standing ten feet tall,
blooming,
beautiful,
a community that turns
the dusty prairie
to gold.
May our roots reach beneath you,
sending nourishment.
May you feel the support
from your sunflower kin
in fields far and wide.
Not So Swift
There must be something in the name
Former icons,
Machiavellis
Getting high from their games
Their muse,
Their reflections
Self-named masterminds
Souls sold to the highest bidder
Anything to make them richer
Morality, a formality
You both said nothing
To the televised deaths
But you surpassed Ms. Americana,
In level of ignorance
Flying into Ben Gurion,
from your window,
could you see the bombs?
Tel Aviv Tourist
Malignant Narcissist
Crop out the corpses,
they’d ruin your pics.
Solar Flares
queerness,
a radical radiance,
supernatural,
yet
as natural as nature itself
ungoverned by the galaxies
renouncing the pull of assimilation
from this disillusioned dynasty
offering no vacancies
for someone like you,
someone like me.
intergalactic fugitives
burning in bursts,
not a threat,
but indeed a flare
holding too much light
for one body to bear
blackouts come
when you refuse the sun,
when you see in only duality,
prisoners of gravity
“the race for space”
a satirical mission,
when space
is a place
to be found
right here on Earth,
to take up space,
to be fully seen
without a telescope.
Hidden in
the Holiday Card
Under the tree
the boxes are empty,
props on a set
for the holiday shoot.
Arriving in costume,
served plastic food.
A chilling peace comes with pretending,
in over-rehearsed renditions of
family traditions,
of sharing a stage with strangers
who bear the same name.
Typecasted as the martyr,
they cut out my tongue.
Now, the fallen angel
Once, the golden one.
Watch my descent
from the top of the tree!
The impact of the fall
cracks me wide open,
devaluing me.
All of the the years I shined
in perfection,
to be placed in a bin of
discarded possessions.
“What would Jesus do?”
“What will the neighbors think?”
“Let’s not talk about it.”
(Walk away and grab a drink)
“What else do you want me to say?”
“Of course I love you,
just not that you’re...
you know, that way.”
“Please don’t take offense,
it’s just...
nonsense
(to us)
and talks like these are tough.”
“We can have her take the photo,
but to be in it?
Hell
No.
(The scene we replay, the message the card doesn’t say)
Will this photo capture
the confusion that comes
from posing with loved ones
without the love?
Dear Florida,
Don’t let your waters erase me,
politicize my body,
or trap me in your illusion of
paradise as purgatory.
Can I rest in the sun without getting burned?
collecting souvenirs
within a surveillance state —
a swampland of snipers rising with hate.
(I toss my tears in your water
like coins,
wishing to return
to your once gentle rays)
Sincerely,
A Banned Being
Invasive Species
Beige on beige.
Freshwater pearls.
Both of the water, both far from home.
Paradise, a relative term.
Some drown in debt, some swim in Dom Perignon.
Old money mansions,
still drafting blueprints.
White collar felons,
audacious opportunists.
Tasteless recreation,
burial site of individuation.
Where Versailles
meets Rodeo Drive:
unadulterated imitation,
adulterers' vacation.
The birthplace of Narcissus,
where yellow flowers line the streets,
invasive to the region,
blooming out of season.