Everybody should have this on your blog
This was my chemistry professor.
When I was a kid I would sometimes
Secretly call myself Andrew
Would tug at the crotch of my pants the way
Only pubescent boys do
Ran around pounding on my bare chest like tarzan
It’s not that I thought I’d grow up to be a man
I just never thought I’d grow up to be a woman either
From what I could tell neither of those categories
Seemed to fit me
But believe me, I knew from a very young age never to say
Hey dad, this adam and eve thing isn’t really working for me
I mean, what about all the people in between?
In the third grade lynette lyons aksed me
Where all of my barbies were
I lied and told her I got in trouble
So my mom took them away
I didn’t dare say: barbie sucks, lynette!
And for that matter tommy, so does gi joe
I wanna grow into something none of us have ever seen before
And gender is just one of the ways
We’re boxed in and labeled before we’re ever able
To speak who we believe we are
Or who we dream we’ll become
Like drumbeats forever changing their rhythm
I am living today as someone I had not yet become yesterday
And tonight I will borrow only pieces of who I am today
To carry with me to tomorrow
No I’m not gay
No I’m not straight
And I’m sure as hell not bisexual damnit
I am whoever I am when I am it.
Loving whoever you are when the stars shine
And whoever you’ll be when the sun rises
Yes, I like girls
Yes, I like boys
Yes, I like boys who like boys
I like girls who wear toys and girls who don’t
Girls who don’t call themselves girls
Crew cuts or curls or that really bad hair phase in between
I like steam rising from the body of a one-night stand
I like holding hands for three months before kissing
I like wishing your body was Saturn
My body a thousand rings wrapped around you
You wanted to be a Buddhist nun once
Last night you held my cervix between your fingers
I thanked gods I don’t believe in for your changing
Tell me we’ll be naming our children beautiful and nothing else
Tell Barbie she can go now
Tell gi joe to put his gun down and find a boyfriend
Or a girlfriend
Or a girl/boyfriend
Fuck it, gi joe just needs a friend, y’all
I mean, he’s plastic
And not even the kind of plastic that bends
I want to bend in a thousand directions
Like the sun does
Like love does
Like time stopped
So the hands of the clock could hold each other
And we held each other like I held these words
For too many years on the tip of my tongue
I am my mother’s daughter
I am midnight’s sun
You can find me on the moon
Waxing and waning
My heart full of petals
Every single one begging
Love me, love me, love me
Whoever I am
Whoever I become
*re-reads sex chapter of fanfiction over breakfast cereal like it’s the morning paper*
putting stuff on your blog that you enjoy is 10000% better than trying to stick to one category
"Across the water
a train moves slow against the trees
like the bow of an aching violin.
At my side a child
is begging her mother for milk.
The mother is a broken staircase with fresh paint.
Someday the daughter’s dreams will fall through
and I will turn my chest into an elevator
right before she tells me
For now I say, ‘Listen to that train.
It is full of milk.’
The mother grabs the daughter by the sleeve,
pulls her down the beach.
On the shore the daughter finds a pebble
the color of a wedding gown,
puts it in her mouth,
crookeds her teeth,
is no longer hungry.
I dream I am a prince
or a knight
in shining removable armor.
My love’s last lover is a sword
I keep falling on.
I think too much when I kiss.
If love did not exist
I would be so goddamn sane
my poems would be billboards.
Suburbia would be enough.
I would not have to gut myself to find my spine
crushed into powder
and brushed on her cheekbones.
My hair would not be a hummingbird’s nest.
My mind would not have to move so fast to rest.
I would not be in North Carolina
tearing flowers from the motel flowerpots,
searching for a love-me-not I can drop like a guillotine
on my own gallop chest.
It is incredible what kind of mess I can make
with a nine-hour drive and an unanswered text.
Yes, that is me
crying to the tollbooth man.
'In the ghost town of our love
there is a player piano
trying to prove it can make music
without being touched.
My fingertips miss her so much.’
He hands me no change.
Tells me there’s a Laundromat down the highway
that is also a bar.
I could make a clean getaway.
I could fall of the wagon and catch
a freight train of insanity straight through this mountain.
I could at the very least wash my clothes
so I could for once in my life know
what it’s like to have control of the spin cycle,
what’s it’s like to know
what the yarn knows of sweaters,
how to hold myself together.
Love, I know it is not sexy to make-out
with someone who so constantly
has their foot in their mouth.
But remember I am also the one who told you
I want to feel you like the lifelines on the palms of Jesus
felt the nails go through.
I want to make popcorn with you, with the lid off.
Yes, that’s sexy alk.
Yes, I’m freaky.
Yes, I heard the bartender say
it is not holy water if it doesn’t burn going down
and you are hot
enough to keep me sober
on a Saturday night on Bourbon Street.
I told her, ‘You have a heart of gold
and I am kneeling in your bloodstream
panning for the only thing that has ever felt like home.’
Across the water a train moves
slow against the trees, and I say, ‘Listen
to that train. Let’s follow it wherever it goes.’”
this is so important to me
My anaconda will take whatever it can get at this point