some days aren't yours at all.
a group of strangers called me ugly today. i was walking by the space they called their own, wearing my girl clothes and my boy hair and my face that has always been somewhere in between both fields, and i heard them call out,
"ugly!"
and i turned my head, with my little ears that hear everything and and my little eyes that have never flashed enough for fire and my little mouth that parted in shock, and i heard them whisper,
"look at her!"
"i think she heard us."
"i think she heard us, heard us."
"ugly! ugly!"
and it rang out like a broken church bell, tolling, recording, confirming.
and it rang out like a warbled cry from chipped teeth that bite down on silk ribbons in mad attempts at tasting beauty.
i get so close sometimes, you know. sometimes i look down at myself and think i am man. i imagine my jaw a cutting right angle, my body stretching out long and immaculate, my heart beating a man's blood and my soul manufacturing liquid steel without the artificial make-believes i feed off of every day.
sometimes i dream of eggshell-white skin, feline eyes, swan throats, and exorcised smiles, and i get so very, very close.
there are so many things i could tell those tiny strangers, those sharp-tongued boys, about the demi-girl they flung their daggers into today. i want to curse them into femininity for the rest of their lives and steal their sturdy, not-yet-men bones and make them my own.
it's a lonely world in this skin.
"ugly!"
and i turned my head, with my little ears that hear everything and and my little eyes that have never flashed enough for fire and my little mouth that parted in shock, and i heard them whisper,
"look at her!"
"i think she heard us."
"i think she heard us, heard us."
"ugly! ugly!"
and it rang out like a broken church bell, tolling, recording, confirming.
and it rang out like a warbled cry from chipped teeth that bite down on silk ribbons in mad attempts at tasting beauty.
i get so close sometimes, you know. sometimes i look down at myself and think i am man. i imagine my jaw a cutting right angle, my body stretching out long and immaculate, my heart beating a man's blood and my soul manufacturing liquid steel without the artificial make-believes i feed off of every day.
sometimes i dream of eggshell-white skin, feline eyes, swan throats, and exorcised smiles, and i get so very, very close.
there are so many things i could tell those tiny strangers, those sharp-tongued boys, about the demi-girl they flung their daggers into today. i want to curse them into femininity for the rest of their lives and steal their sturdy, not-yet-men bones and make them my own.
it's a lonely world in this skin.