when i wear a dress

i feel like a / boy

wearing a dress /

it feels wrong sister / but mostly it feels / 

//

right that i am / decorated / to strut

to jut my chin / & / cinch my waist

disguise my tits or lay them on a platter/

//

depending on the cut

i feel like a pansy sister one who dons / femininity

on her petals / delicate & pretty / i feel /

//

like the most beautiful boy in the / whole / world 

wearing a dress & sister

i know i can’t say things

//

like that / cause i can't call somebody's

experience / mine / but sister

you stroked my cheek / and told me

                                                                                                i don't have to be a girl

                                                                                                if i don't want to be a girl

& if it's all just fashioned as a concept then this is the birthday cake i want to eat & i want to eat all of it / none of it / i don't want to be / either / or / this / that / i don't want to be your queer / science experiment i don't / want to be / a girl i don't / want to be / a boy / i want to / be / what i am 

            & when i wear a dress / i am a / boy /

                         wearing a dress

my pussy dancing / naked under my skirt masquerading as a dick cause when i wear a dress

i am a / fairy with wings larger than your cock i can fly /  i am powerful / i am prince no i am king & this is my kingdom & you will bow your / tiny dick / &  you will rub your hands across the fabric of my gown cause when i wear a dress i get / hot & horny you will /

fuck me / you will slide your hands up my skirt & and you will / fuck me / & finally i will / fuck you / hard / fuck you / so hard / you will forget / who you are / but you will know

one thing and one thing for sure / that i am a boy fucking you and i am a boy fucking you wearing a dress.

*previously published in Ethel

one time this turquoise boat pulled up to the stern deck and the deckhand to whom i tossed the bow line called me “hon”

and held an engaging conversation with me

the entire time that his boat fueled up

which took me by surprise because usually the

straight-cis-white-misogynistic-bristol-bay-fishermen  

really had no interest in beginning and maintaining

a conversation with the

a-little-bit-androgynous-short-haired-obviously-queer-barge-deckhand

because they took an interest in

girls.

oh and did i mention that he wore

very brightly colored raingear that of

blue and orange and yellow and on the back

of his green rain jacket was boldly painted “i eat ass”

so obviously

this fisherman was gay.

once his boat untied i ran upstairs elated to tell the chef my discovery

“after all this time

i think i finally met another queer in the bay! a GAY fisherman!”

i presented her with the given evidence confident in my judgement

after all a queer knows when they encounter another queer

and a punctured ship can sink in a matter of seconds

“a GAY fisherman? impossible”

 said the first boy

 “pssh are you stupid? definitely not gay”

said the second boy

“hahahaha i’m an o p e n l y g a y fisherman”

said the first boy

“yeah there’s no way you met an openly gay fisherman”

said the second boy

nothing is impossible some say

but those boys

they are the gatekeepers of possibility

welcoming each and every one of us

who differ from them even in the slightest

by capsizing us in deep waters

abandoning us to drown untethered from our vessels

crying silent tears and shouting into the incessant sea

for someone something anything

to witness

our impossible existence.

*previously published in The Barge Zine