Bodies built out of rubble
the mix-matched material
knit from the core of my needle heart.
Quilt bodies on the floor
a nest of birds
breathing in the stale air and self-hate.
Take me to the cutting board
dice me up into tiny cubes
to put in small plastic cups for samples.
Hand me out at a stand,
even if they only like me because I'm free.
Campfires built of bone tipis
strip the marrow and use it as kindling.
Fireflies hovering in the air
blinking slowly like light bulbs
about to go out.
Campfires that aren't for the camping
rather a bubble of security
from red eyes staring back at me in the bushes.
My mother tells me
"braiding hair like that is strictly for females".
And I whisper under heavy breathing
that i'd rather die with the name "Kay"
on my tombstone.
[[Maybe then they will call say, "I'm sorry about your daughter.".
It only took death for them to accept my gender.]]
I want to tell my mother
that I'd rather go out how I want
and take all the words and white-knuckled punches
she'll think I'll receive
than put a paper bag over my head.
Like a fad I will die out.
Escape the minds of those who can still whisper
through chap lips.
Remembered only through old photos
and a slab of stone.
My body melts into the floorboards
of the living room;
sink my body into the world machine.
Magnets pull towards and away from each other in my stomach
my body slowly gravitating to the mantle.
The mantle is the only crematory I need.
They bullied him to his grave
and scared my mom out of high school.
For him I will wear my hair in braids
and accept all the white-knuckled punches I receive.