mini van

‘you were pretty for a boy.’

who am i fooling? who am i trying to fool? why does my skin itch every time i think about it, every time i think about you? it used to come so easy, be so simple, and now it falls through my finger-tips with every shaken exhale. i don't know what i'm doing wrong.

can you kill a facade? can you pierce its chest and watch it bleed out on the floor -- satisfied, prideful? can you stand over it and laugh, cackle, amused at the man it was trying to be? the imitation it was trying to perform? can you mangle the pieces?

why do i feel so twelve? so 'hair on the back of my neck, lower your gaze and keep your breath steady'? so 'try hard, try hard, normal normal normal'? so 'overcompensate'?

the dirt under my nails bares the names of boys under bleachers and i know, i'm no better than the under-dog crowd i keep tripping into, keep putting six feet between. 'me and them.' 'them and me.'

i can't conform. i can't shake the beast, and i'd laugh if my tongue wasn't stuck to the roof of my mouth -- catatonic. pretending.

i don't know who i'm trying to fool.

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