BODY DYSMORPHIA BILDUNGSROMAN
My first word is berate.
Momma takes me to church.
O
They whipped and they stripped and they hung him high.
Another boy, not singing, laughs at the verbs.
O
I learn all God says is JUDGE.
And I’ll find love when I’m naked.
O
I take myself to dim, cold rooms.
Dark, with strangers on top of blankets.
O
I hate it and them: my hamstrings.
There’s no meat that flexes.
O
Everyone undresses. On my phone.
I, too, can only muster moans of oh and—
O
The tone of God.
The tone of Godd.
O
When I first saw genitals in a pop-up ad, I sobbed.
Birds and bees are mobs. So is their talk.
O
Pastors squawk, What is purity? Where do we put our hands?
I keep my hands to myself. Surprise.
O
And over my eyes—
I TRY TO ESCAPE MY BRAIN BUT
O
IT KEEPS MULTIPLYING IN SIZE.
I’m not hiding a GameBoy under the sheets.
O
It’s my private parts. Puberty.
Usually, I don’t let myself be this honest.
O
Everything is a sign a sign a sign a sign
a promise.
O
My memory chronically morphs out of what a hero forgets;
A moment or moments where living becomes trying.
O
And trying becomes everything.
And everything tries to be less miserable.
O
I am trying to be less miserable, digging
for everything I have to write into my flesh.
O
Mine eyes are on a heavy diet of sin.
What’s below my hair is a sin.
O
I’m skinnier and shorter than God.
Yes, he nods. In a chair he swallows.
ALTERNATE UNIVERSE, DESTINATION WEDDING
I am thrown in the back of a pickup truck and I am oblivious.
The vehicle that takes us from the reception to a honeymoon hotel.
I’ve married a woman who doesn’t love me, unaware.
One day I’m twig. The next, I’m too big for my smedium shirts.
When I put on muscle, she doesn’t see muscle, and no one else does either.
I’m not imposing enough to protect her from a hypothetical man.
But she insists I wear the tightest swimsuits and briefs.
At the nude beaches, she brags while showing me off.
She shoves fruits, carbs, into my mouth. When I’m full, I keep going.
When it’s a crime to not like the flavor, I want my own taste buds.
I put my feet in the ocean, and she dunks my head in it.
We eat quiet meals where she doesn’t thank the waiter.
And when it’s time for bed, we don’t make love or fuck what we call it.
In the middle of the night, I take the rental car to the airport.
I catch the first flight home without packing a bag.
When I get to my apartment, I wash the curtains.
I run the dryer for a cycle longer than I need to.
I invite myself over. We kiss among the warm.
MIDWEST EMO ALBUM OUTRO
The weather moves one way.
The sun sets in the other direction.
You throw me a party. Celebrate me.
Confetti on the kitchen floor.
Let’s make snow angels in it, you say.
I get out a broom and a dustpan.
Then I go back to work.
So I’ll earn more confetti later.
It’s not my ambition, love.
It’s not God or my breath.
It’s you. You give me life.
You make me feel like a man.
My definition of a man.
Larger, more spontaneous than me.
***
Author photograph courtesy of Chris Crowder
