black boy—girl—boy—girl—faggot


body-busted                 can’t figure head to toe which way i’m finna go
sometimes i call the boy to the surface
    he shouts back and unravels warped out
boy shape
      sometimes i call the girl to the top of my skull                  she pools
into my eyes until i’m looking through cluster and hum
                sometimes ain’t no
one there
                      they’ve tapped out                 a false vagina-code
                                                        lost under panic                 

and falling
                                                                                            look at me                                                                and my boy mouth
with my girl sounds
                                                look at me  and my
stomach knots                   
                            look at me
rolling faggot noise off my swelling tongue
look at me and my angry knuckles on lock
                        look at me tryna fight off the half-boy cock
                                    look at me                                        tryna fight off my own clit
                                                                    look at me tryna shout
myself into existence         look at me tryna hide look at me tryna rock   outta
my girl-soft skin outta my pulsing ribs outta my fatty tits    outta my rotating
s me-into     freak-noxious nigga
            false-flexing black boy
                  throat-jammed black girl                       pulse-heavy kid               hybrid
        crippled echo-code                 nervous note
dreamy drifting                body gone loose
a body.                a body.                        a body.

sometimes i ain’t got one                                                           and
sometimes i crawl into sleep where i’m barefoot and clumsy, where the asphalt rumbles underneath, where the liquor-glass gets all stuck in a smile between my teeth, where the sleepy sun shoots red beams across the smog-netted sky, where the Bronx summer remembers me in pieces, where the little black girl swings and fumbles, where the little black boy gravel-skids his knees and trembles, where the two come through a tear in the dirt, twisted at the roots, where the fleshy orange-hued streets be womb-callin’ me, where i get un-birthed with a bang, where i don’t gotta knuckle smash between girl and boy, where i don’t gotta stumble over form and soul, over spirit and bone, where i don’t gotta puzzle-piece my headspace, where i don’t gotta pressure-mash my body into shape, where i don’t gotta be all fake, where i can keep it hundred, where i can be. 

They are a twenty-six year old, black bi-gendered person. They graduated Longwood University with a BA in English. They have graduated from West Virginia Wesleyan College with an MFA Creative Writing. They have published in the Guide To Kulchur Creative Journal Issue No. 4: LGBTQIA and Two-Spirit Issue and in PANK Online Magazine, Polychrome Ink Journal, GrubStreet, No Tokens Journal, Paper Nautilus, Foglifter Journal and PRISM International. They focus-write and play around with gender, race, sexuality off-pulse spirit stuff, and the body to explore identity.