when i was young and foolish
i wanted to be a thing
people yearned to possess
and being owned, made happy
but now my hair is full of gray
i see the world for what it is
if i am owned–i am not free
and i am better than a cage
i am the universe that loves
the wind that sings, the sea that heals
and i will shit magic on you
from all the way across the world
when i was young
my love burned and raged
i am wise now
long embers in the night
someplace warm
for a friend to sit
my mother died five years ago
i still see her in my head
she comes to me in dreams sometimes
and tells me art is never dead
she sees the world in angles
in patterns and reflections
she is laughing in my dreams
and wears her crown in scarlet
is she alive inside me now?
am i the island? the needle and thread?
am i the old man in his garden?
i go looking for the mirror
i am still her child
with fingers dressed in paint
her hair is gold, the sun behind her
and there's a maple seed upon my nose
i don't know what time it is
but i know we still have time
who lives and breathes
holds the universe in their hand
read this and be reborn
I am not some desperate thing
I am never-and-none
the cold black night and stars that burn
unfurled in all my glory
and yet…
i dream of you
and the memory of grass
the safety of your lips
our children in your arms
i was wearing a little black dress
when i told you i was trans
your eyes looked so fucking hungry
you said i tasted like cherries
and you wanted my flavor of chaos
you say that i’m a wild thing;
a sweet surprise at two am
but you’re the one who claimed me
with two fingers in my mouth
and your hand upon my throat
when i look at you i remember
the way you climbed on top of me
rode your clit against my cock
and took the orgasm you deserved
without asking for permission
the sheets are tangled and sweaty;
you’re all my tongue can think about
there’s talk of getting old–
“you better have bail money ready–
coz’ I’m gonna be a fucking problem”
i can see you on the picket line
your hair all windswept gray
like the steel in your blue eyes
and every hill you intend to die on
you say that i’m the wild thing
all i am is sweet surrender
living at the mercy of your lips
say i’m boulanger and bonnemain
and i will follow you to belgium
life is short and days are long
i worry we are dying
say yes, say no, say anything at all
but say we’ll be together
sometimes my body gets sad
and i wonder where your fingers are
how i lost them; how to find them;
they belong on me, ranging soft skin
clutching, caressing, penetrating
after everything, i ache for you
and the arms i still call home
in another world
sweet, mad, boy
you and i were witches
dancing naked in the night
we grew strong and lean;
a prince and princess of the fey
leading men and women
to sweet delight
my love for you burned bright
though your cruelty scared me;
i chose to save myself
instead of gentling you
you died on the highway
in search of high adventure
drugs burning in your veins
still screaming for escape
for twenty years i did not say
the name you shared with me,
that gave me power over you
but i still remember
the sun upon your face
the wind in your hair
o’ summer prince
you burn here still
you always minimized
what we had together
but she was the sun;
how could he compare?
he didn’t know
she saw the sun too
mrs. darling keeps hers hidden
at the corners of her mouth
mr. darling calls it a kiss
but those are only thimbles
she dreamt it in a pirate’s cove,
on the midnight train to kal salei
through steppes and singing sands
beneath the island and the ocean
he thinks a kiss will make him happy
if he can steal one from her lips
but that one’s hers, and hers alone
and if he looks, he’ll find his own
he won’t catch it in a dusty ledger
nor in some stodgy bank clerk’s vault
his is somewhere up amongst the stars:
out west; a praerie faerie; an open road
no matter what wise men say
you cannot steal what’s free–
as anyone with children knows
true magic sleeps, but is never bound
peter pan lost his shadow
and wendy put it in a drawer
but locks don’t last forever
just like him
you’ll need to dig yours out
and sew it back on
but best if you remember
you aren’t just peter pan–
you’re the island, and wendy too
full of songs and stories,
wielding needle and thread,
and ready for adventure
