(I Think We All Just Want Everything To Be Okay). My Existence Is Reckless Behavior.
(I think we all just want everything to be okay). My existence is reckless behavior. Gentle gaze, honest lips, certain hands: it could get me killed. If they clock me first. Or if I fall for the traps. Fuck the suffering. I’ll fuck who the fuck I want, wear what the fuck I want, say no to whatever I want, say yes to the blessing that devours me. When my mom texts me to be “SAFE” she is asking me to lay low, blend in, grow my hair out, wear dresses, suicide my sexuality. Which I already tried and failed, so here we are —everything, chaos, inside and around me. I can’t trust myself enough to trust, even when I let those crush fluids seep to my bloodstream by pussy, as if I haven’t already resigned to the dangers of love outside the norm. I say I want my people free. Some do it by the fist, the march, the silence, the analysis, the numbers, the people the people the people —at the end of my day, it is not just what I fight for, it is about why I love.