I mean, what is it with men thinking.
I mean, what is it with men feeling
entitled. I mean what is it with men
thinking they own any body they want.
So what, rejection? It can’t be, I can’t be
you. I won’t be you. You, you. I write
poems to you, hidden. I wrote twenty-eight
pages addressed to somebody else
but they weren’t really. I’m only ever writ-
ing to you, these pieces, teeth and nails
bared I want, I want
you say but no, stop wanting.
I am not a man. But what if all I know is
man? I want, I want. I mean, what is it
with men & wanting but not knowing how?
I am not a man. So what, rejection?
It’s 2018 and I want to be a bird.
I never lived inside this body.
I did always stare into space.
You know, you know and I know
you’re only trying to protect me,
these pieces. The skin of my wrists
and my toe bones. I am hollow
and you are strong. What is natural
but coping. We vibrate, shaking
our body apart. I’ll be honest again,
we did nothing but sit in the dark
and look out for years
seeing nothing seeing nothing
how did we survive how did we
survive how as if we weren’t
But what if all I know is
not being not being sitting sitting still
inevitable inevitable I don’t want
I know you you my body me
but I don’t see me in you any more
(and the birds wanna fuck, wanna?)
fuck I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
I’m sitting here, you’re sitting here.
I am not a man. You are not a man.
We are only the things we thought
we should be. Let me write this now,
we can be anything. Let me write this
now, living is so much more than words.
I am going to write this now for you,
we never have to be angry again.
This poem was included in my book "I want you to feel ugly, too," which can be read on issuu.
About the Creator
Hi! I'm a queer multimodal artist writing love poems in Seattle, one half of the art and poetry collective Eat Yr Manhood, and head curator of Stone Pacific Zine. Work in The Rumpus, Occulum, Peach Mag, dream boy book club, and others. :P