all weekend long

i'm collecting pieces of slate
from all over this city,
like unwanted
refugees. like all of the people
who come to new orleans to live
on her sidewalks and be
marginalized.
i'm waiting for
some kind of sign
that any of us belong here,
swamp-cum-city,
city-cum-sewer, -cum-wreckage as
the neighbors tear walls out
five years after the storm.
here, we all know what
"after the storm"
is referring to.
referring to a city still
in bloom,
its business bustle,
not neglect, five years out,
or houses that sort-of
stand, but are mostly
see-through.
what's it like?
ask my far away friends, and
i have no words for them,
only pictures

skew

she is beautiful, and
ignoring me
speaking of men she's dating
until i want to scream
i'm right in front of you,
look at me,
fucking look at me.
running around this concrete city
and all i want is
everything
from you,
i am tired of play
i want something real, this time.
something mine.
she wants a pretty gypsy boy,
and my new dyke friend says
she doesn't know anyone
who'd date someone like me

poisonously insinuating my flaws
into unlovable, unwantable
woman,
no woman will want you

and thing is, they rarely do
i remain here,
beckoning.
not queer enough, not
single enough, not
butch or femme enough,
not normative enough
to be labeled into a box
you can check.
i am an outlier.
i skew
your data.

follow your own instincts

i dream of letting
so many things
just go
of waking up in places
i've never seen before in daylight
and all this stuff i drag
with me hangs
on my ankles like manacles.
i'll never be able
to get lost, to find myself
in foreign places,
with all i cling to,
and i resent it, yes
hate being so attached
to the physical
because my memories live there,
instead of my head,
hate that i have to feel
to remember, to look and smell
and hold in my hands.
writing
is a cerebral act, yes
but only born
from what we know, life
rattling around our heads
into a pattern, of sorts
until we can
distill it into words.
one day, i would
leave my ties
tie up the straps
and go for a while,
run until i'm left
with nothing else to see,
no more road
to follow.
i want to roam
until i find my home, and then
leave it behind.