CarnelianKey

 All I dream of is to be beautiful I need to look as I feel on the inside I want to be a boy, a pretty boy I dream of having short hair To wear frilly skirts I want to wear makeup My mind is having manly thoughts I want to buy her pearls Or I want to be his gay lover I am so confused All I know is I'm not what I want I want to be a man I need to have "it" between my legs To talk in a masculine way To be able to dress as I please The world will judge me, but I don't really care As long as I'm a him I'll feel alright Call me a fag, a tranny, anything at all Just give me my right to be who I am

we are all twenty three point five degrees shy of even, a people off-kilter and invariably prodigal, timid as our buffalo. you have a hometown, i say out loud while driving in it, and you murmur something about murder, the dusky war over your head. you say those birds don't even know about the obliquity of the ecliptic, and here they are, trying to change it with all their weight in the sky. twenty three point five, you repeat, your mouth around it gingerly as a psalm, as a lioness with cubs, and we keep driving. there are sights: a stripped-wire cherry tree, its fragile arms tipped with ravens, their children unstrung and clinging