I Will Eat Your Sons in Bathrooms
I will eat your sons in bathrooms.
File my teeth into fangs.
Suck blood from strangers in stalls.
I will tear apart their masculinity
with my small hands.
You won’t even have to say goodbye,
I’ll do that for you.
It would be clear if you saw me:
It’s the rock-bottom grain in my voice
Tattooed on facial hair that gives it away
I spray painted the left side of my body
pink, blue, and white just so you
can pick me out of the crowd.
I will make you into a woman.
I will breathe the air
out of your mouth.
That’s how I get my testosterone.
I will melt your manhood
out of your body.
It is going to kill me eventually.
It will carve my insides out
until there is nothing left.
Boil my intestines into fruits,
and you will eat them.
I am the serpent feeding you.
I am here to take away your god.
I thought it would be like writing postcards
to long lost relatives or paper macheing
the shape of my own hands.
I thought this was going to be easy.
i have a keychain on my house key that says “escape hatch”
i’m not sure whether it means going through the door or out of it
whether or not my humorous undertones are actually refractions
with holes in the center or turned upside down
i walk home from school every day with my blue adidas backpack
take pictures of carved in sidewalks, pick spring flowers
make my way home through this overgrown town.
sometimes i stop at the seventies strip mall with the discount stores
eat licorice while walking down the hill;
seven auto body shops in parallel lines
escape’s second definition is: to be failed to be noticed or remembered by
i wonder if the crossing guard has seen me as many times as i’ve seen him