i am a bacchanal personified a never-ending party of swapping my identity like shitty thrift store clothes i change it whenever it makes the joke funniest come and drink the wine from my lips the Pope excommunicated me when he took a sip sip sip and my teeth impaled his holy tongue—
i defile my body
constantly
with black ink and steel
it gives me a high
it gives me control
that i’ve never had
as i take my meat saw
saw saw
off all the parts
that serve me no purpose
luscious voluminous
chicken breast that i
cut c ut c u t
off my
so
my
chest
bleeding
pretty
forbidden
string
of
pearls
drip
drip
dripping
from
my
incisions
my meat,
thick and crimson raw,
splattered on a wheeling cart
unforgiving udder,
departed,
a soul for a soul
a piece of the body for rebirth
if only, if only
if only i had the courage to pick up the bone saw
i hate looking in the mirror i love looking in the mirror
i’m not pretty enough it boosts my ego
i’m not masculine enough cause i know i’m pretty and sexy and hot and masc
everyone still thinks i’m a girl the power of queerness
everyone still thinks i’m a girly girl woman girl the power of flattening your chest
the power of the
illusion of
control
look me in my dark brown eyes,
saucers, dirt galaxy,
and tell me that i’m pretty.
aren’t i pretty?
don’t i look masculine enough?
don’t i look like a man?
Mami, stop rolling your eyes,
and say yes.
please say yes.
tell me i’m a handsome man,
that i’m the son you always wanted.
…
i don’t believe you.
-
Art by Jack Bullard
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