I listen to this lyric & remember us as kings. Your name,
Sir he/him pre-T & oh so pretty
Sir they/them just tryna make it out of the grocery store
We rhymed our genius on top
of this already-done song as if it needed our goofy
lines about wanting to die. We thought
die synonymous for disappear. To be us
was to be a mirror you can’t see the other side to.
We entered HEB aisles prepared
to be spectacles — I loved this dystopia
with you. On the ride home we laughed like it wasn’t
aftercare for war. When we recap the nights I say
fuck being kind. What has kindness ever done for us?
you shrug & later whisper death wished in my rectum
I wonder where we go when all of us prematurely perish;
I wonder how it feels to be in a body
that doesn’t need transformation;
to rest breastless in the night sky & feel the skin
of cissy tongue at a time other than darkness.
We rode beats like a bullet
whistling through the quiet of the wind. We retreat
into each other’s mouths like the wind
would dare touch the tremor
in our limited time. My nigga
was not the first or the last or the best example
of a young king gone too soon. Only a memory
I sometimes think lied to me, or didn’t allow us to be
anything other than perceived. I want
to hear this song with new ears unscathed by dangerous
questions. Only dripping with safety we see
in aisle three; loaves plump and ready for feasting.
Due to COVID-19, we currently have no upcoming events.
Follow us for updates!