him, red in the face and old enough to know how this 

world works. me, learning what wrath looked like 

painted over eyes that saw my same earth. he spat 

the word queer like i already knew to be ashamed of it, like 

he could see it in the way i struggled to lift my chin. 

my hands, quivering and empty. the whole town, holding 

its breath. maybe it was watching us. maybe it was. 

in           the           night      i         first      learn      there 

is           a              world     of       hurt      and         a           single 

brushstroke           between           run       and 

ruin

i only remember two things from the first time i started living: you, 

striking me like a match, and my tongue, struggling to remember 

that word. it might’ve been incandescence. it might’ve been despair. 

it might’ve just been how i felt, collapsed in your arms. brilliantly, 

horrifically, alive. 

worldly: of, relating to, or devoted to this world. your smile is worldly. 

the curvature of your spine is worldly. i devote myself to you. i become 

worldly.

you, glazed over, watching the fan overhead as it 

spins and spins. me, thawing in the crook of where your 

largest artery unwinds to your collarbone, this moment already 

becoming a figment of blossoming, imploding youth. 

you taste like ash and honey. i hope that even after a thousand 

breaths, i never get used to this. 

her, watching. i want to wretch and tell her that i am 

not a book to read or a breath to exhale. her eyes whisper 

are you okay are you hurting are you happy are you trying

me, only half here, screaming no, no, no. 

me, monster. him, mortal. me, pleading that when they have nothing 

to know of us beyond our bones, we will be no different. we are 

both, somehow, worldly.