tonight / i bought / bubblebath.

hot water
glass of wine
(un)familiar book.

i take off my butch self
and put on somebody else's.

sweat-rivuled skin,
cold tile against my back
wishing for hers.

Thursday night alone feels strange.
my skin is softer than it's ever been,
and i want to show you.

i don't write poetry like this anymore
(for fear of getting caught).

once i get out,
i slip into the dress you told me to buy
because i looked good in it.
i put on my femme self.
i want nothing more
than to feel your hands across the part of my back left exposed
untie the straps that hold me in place.
["this is you knowing me."]
i love your hands.
(and i hope you know i can't just say this.)

i delight in the softness of you
and seek the hardness of you.
i want to find places in you that no one has ever touched
--that no one knew needed to be touched.

another change of clothes,
another gender,
another performance.
i put on my orange hoodie
my journeyman's attire
soft against my skin
[like i know you can be]--
it feels like Home.

i am a girl but not a Girl;
i was you at seventeen.
talking to you is like talking to myself;
you are the voice inside my head.

i want to know everything
and i already do.

[i want you to come with me.
i want to show them,
look what i found, what found me.
and you ask and i have no answer,
because it doesn't matter to me,
I see the whole You.
and i feel like neither name addresses you all.
i want you in that jacket that shows off your shoulders,
your hands firm and (un)sure in my own.
and when they ask I want to smile and answer,
"(s)he came with me."]

you are both and neither and more than the sum of your parts.


-----
19 march 2009
the kind of thing i always hesitate to post.