Mars Jones (he/they) // Contributor
Taylore Lawrence (she/her) // Illustrator
1.
I am starting the second year of my life
and all the practice that came before prepared me for someone who I did not turn out to be.
The first thing I see when I open my eyes is the crumbling popcorn ceiling.
The second the diagonal paths of light that don’t follow me far enough in the house.
Stopping a little ways past the window.
Light used to pummel me from the left
and I would turn to the right to escape it.
I was no man and I am no man and the skills I never learned never transferred.
2.
Home feels like a waiting room and I am idle.
The dishes are not yet done.
I am beckoning strangers to sit at my table
and begging for them to leave when they stand just past the doorway.
I wonder if they see things as I do,
but I find myself looking into ocean or lake when I am so used to the trees and dirt.
I wonder then if they are confused staring back at me,
expecting water and steel but finding
nothing providing reflection.
Everything feels bigger but me.
3.
He was lovely and I wanted to sleep with him, but sleep in the sense of having
control over time. Control over lack of control. Control over a lovely boy
who I did not want to sleep with.
Not really.
I wanted to sleep with him so I peeled off my clothes
and the skin underneath
and went home and washed them.
I didn’t look to see if he saw me bare.
I never really know what I want, just that I am in want of wanting.
