pennsylvania

i live in a state
that forbids me
from saying "I DO"
to
the one who i miss
before they leave the room.
the one who, if i confessed their PREFERRED pronouns,
would make you do a double take.

"the hell is a preferred pronoun?" you ask.
well, babe, try googling PRISM.
is it an acronym? no.
does it have meaning? yes.
does it want jackasses like you
parading through the room,
"saying 'SCREW the world,
because it's better than feeling something'"?
no.

cuz i can assure you
we're not all tibby rollins.

for me,
every day is a PRIDE PARADE,
a tour of love, a song of intimacy.
what you do behind closed doors...
well, i'd GAG if i knew,
too.

so flush your prejudice
down with your sorry goldfish,
package your HATE up in styrofoam.
i'll always be here,
regardless of your bigoted,
two-faced,
furrow-browed,
spineless,
grinch-like,
lie-spitting,
soul-splitting,
self.

you're probably one of those assholes who leaves TIME on the microwave.
and i'll never let you close to my GIRL.

Rhythmical

on the night you called, i stayed up until 10 am.
i never questioned our sanity or my drooping eyelids.
"do you have feelings for her?" you asked.
"no, that's gross."
we all knew you had feelings of a different kind,
feelings that could break glass,
the kind of shards
you step on
at 4 am
(or maybe 10)
when you're too tired to notice their glossy tint.

i spent so much on you -
money, call minutes, and
the energy that goes into
my hugs.
i never stopped to think
maybe i'm lonely
while you were making friends,
making pizzas,
going to class,
dressing classy,
earning a new freckle every day,
i was on my gray painted floor,
cutting rhythmical questions:
will you be my internet girlfriend?


"i know," she said,
after that 8 hour phone call.
my phone's on fire,
and it's all in vain.
for all the times i tried to please you
yet you walked out the door
to the other side of the country
embracing the palm trees
like your relatives
that's when the fault lines formed.

no matter how many times i say it,
i feel greedy.
guilty.
too honest.
too loud.
but i know pittsburgh is telling me to
just do it.
just say it.
get it over with, ya whippersnapper.

it's my job.
my job to put you on the spot,
to tell you how you tore
my willingness to make friends,
my anticipation to hear the birds sing,
my drive to get behind the steering wheel.

and there's something sick about it.
i can't help wanting to go back,
but it's a cheap memory.
one that cost too much.
friends that were never going to last.
flowers that were never going to bloom.
i overestimated you.

the other night

i met andrea gibson.
she told me that maya angelou once said that a poem unspoken was a half finished poem.
i want to speak my words, but i'm afraid of dirt.
everyone's words get jumbled together, and in the end, will it even matter?
today i pocket dialed my brother while i was talking about how much he looked like dustin hoffman.
in his glory days. that is to say, the graduate.
things that scare the crap out of me: public transportation, packing, making a drawing worth $190, being sick, 8:30 am german class, and reading for sociology
but at least i don't have a final for that class
i can't wait to go home but i know i'll miss katie so much
i don't want to cry on tour
please don't let me cry on tour

#7: laugh

you're going to laugh at me.
you're going to laugh because you know it's not funny to me.
you're going to laugh at my early alarm,
my shitty dorm room, my pride, my braces.
you're going to laugh at my words,
laugh quicker than i eat yours,
you're going to laugh and nothing i can say
will stop it.
so laugh, but i'll be gone soon.

#6: wednesday

it's wednesday,
but there's no reason
it's magical.

started counting syllables
but i gave up.
i'm sleeping in my room tonight.
waking up to charmed
"sleepover!"


we're here and we're queer
in case you didn't know.
hit us one by one, but you can't knock out
the whole damn row.

i'm writing this

because my heart shouldn’t pound in my chest when i round corners, waiting to see whether the poster i hung last night will still be there.

because i shouldn’t feel threatened in the place i want to spend the next 3 years of my life.

because 50 of my posters have been ripped down, in the midst of many other unrelated ones that are still standing.

because a flyer promoting a peace studies project can last for 2 weeks, but a gaypril poster can not last 8 hours.

because i had to get the dean, the president, and the chaplain involved in this.

because people give me pitiful looks when they see me.

because when you’re not president of prism, you don’t notice these things. 

because i’m the only one that keeps count.

because i’ve never been more protective of a piece of paper.

because i give a damn.

because i know if it was any other kind of poster, it’d still be there.

because i am homosexual. 

because i will not be silent.

because i cannot comprehend why that should bother anyone.

because people still use language that is completely inappropriate.

because my sexual orientation should not bother you.

because you are a fucking asshole.

#5: monday

i'll wipe you from my eyes,
my pain a lame disguise
for "what's coming next?"
and "what happens now?"

there goes my alarm again,
acting like we want to hear it.
you can't make me climb in
the shower with the clumps of hair
that i won't notice until i get in there.

it's 9:15, so i'm leaving
pulling my shorts on and ending my dreaming
heading to a class where i'll listen to you,
praying and hoping my silent dreams
will come true.