there is an empty stretch
of highway
somewhere deep in my bones
cracked tarmac and faded center line
dandelions blooming up out
of the divots of
my sleepless nights
and it is beautiful
and sometimes lonely
like being 7 years old
and knowing i like girls
but also that i am not a girl
and not having the words
to bring that part of me to life
and the first time i kissed a girl
flowers exploded out of
every chip in my armor
making me feel like i could
build a home in my own body
for the first time in 5 years
but everything burns eventually
and flower stems become matches
way too easily
and a hollowness beyond dissociation
something i couldn’t dig out
no matter how hard i tried
and the first boy i liked
i couldn’t tell if i wanted
to kiss him or be him
but both sounded pretty nice
and after the right man to
make me stop being a lesbian
turned out to be myself
the first boy i kissed was on accident
but i wanted to kiss him again
and that stretch of highway seemed less lonely
and more like it would accommodate two
people holding hands
walking side by side