the slide is orange and taller than my father

i am breathing shallowly and only of the sun:

sunbleach blonde, sunburnt freckled, and your son

but we don’t know that for another twenty years

two years after i am supposed to die

she is pregnant with the idea of love still

35lbs of packing peanuts pushing out her belly button

she never took me to the mommy-daughter dance

my father couldn’t stand long enough to go to his

i dance alone in my bedroom when i cry

taste buds change every couple of years

and i like brussel sprouts now more than i’ve ever 

liked anything at all, and it feels silly to be cooking

asparagus and zucchini in the oven when i don’t

have a pan to put them on, open grill searing

my brother told me he wasn’t worried about me coming out

five years later i’m still hidden, partially, he knows

my mother should, my father doesn’t believe

but i’m at the gay club and i’m wearing sequins and i

know how to do my eyeliner and put on fake lashes

i’m calling her again to tell her my life updates

and we’ve circled back to the same misunderstanding

i’m sorry i’m too busy to call everyday

i think it’s rude you never act like you love me

i think it’s cruel you never loved me.