job 10

i just want to go to sleep for a few years and have a nice dream about being a boy.

i just want to be a boy.

i want to wake up and be happy and organized and energetic and peaceful and have a triangular body and a square jaw.

i want to be thin, but i also want to be strong.

i want to be him, and him, and him, and him.

(i want to be her.)

i wish i was beautiful, i wish i was perfect. i wish was my skin was new and pure.

(they’re so lucky, those beautiful people. i hope they know that.)

(i hope they become more beautiful; i hope they become nothing.)

I should have been as though I had not been; I should have been carried from the womb to the grave.

i should have been a boy.

i should have been more.

i should have been a boy.

(i’ve always been nothing.)

i can feel my eyes dripping from my skull, i can feel the fat under my skin. i can feel the liquid that should be solid.

it aches, my body aches. my head aches.

(i realize, sometimes, that i will never be a boy. i’ll never have the money, or the support. even if i became a boy, how would i look my mother brother sister father in the eye?)

(i’m doomed to this life of halfthishalfthat, doomed to always be a heterogeneous mixture of filth and femininity and never enough, never enough.)

it’s not who i am not who i am not who i am not who i am not who i am who am i who am i who am i

(i’m nothing)

why am i like this? what god would do this?

(who is your god? are they kind? i’d like to think that god is kind. i don’t know how that could be.)

it’s so cold but not cold enough

i want to be thin, but i want to be strong! i want to be powerful, but i want to be beautiful

i want to him to be mine. i want to be him.

it will never be enough. i could never be enough. my words, these senseless strings of syllables are empty

never enough.

anyway;