TO THE PEOPLE WHO CALL ME BRAVEhow do i explain that there is no bravery in running from a house on fire. that this story begins with body born boy like animal skinning itself in reverse & sewing itself up wrong. that dressing like this feels less like dressing up & more like dressing a wound. after slipping boy from my body i am a burn victim trying to grow a second skin & this is not bravery it is survival it is trading fire for firing squad & declaring my body bulletproof. when you train the shotgun of a mouth on a body that you say cannot exist i have already begun to fade away and your bullets pass through me like ghosts. TRUE [*}i sit in bed, the only place i sit like this bra / stolen from the summer girl wrapped tight as a belt [the bible belt?] around my chest, wishing this cotton looked like flesh. knowing it doesn’t. i wonder if this is how my boyfriend’s binder makes him feel / guilt begins / to flow like blood. i have grown accustomed to this / rusty lipped guilt / thoughts that taste like every beating i have ever avoided. i want to take a razor to this traitor / beard across my face [dig past the hairs to my skin / paint it like my lips.] every time i sing the word True in tune with Laura’s pain it feels like biting my tongue i wish i could watch the blood / splatter into the sink. a perfect bloody asterix. like me. an exception. [just invisible / enough.] it’s not that i don’t want people to see, but i remember how it feels / not to eat, & guilt goes down easier / with wine. i never intended to hide, i would love to walk a mile in her shoes but they don’t come in my size, & i couldn’t / afford them anyway [not in this economy.] ✱✱✱
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