Deep within the black amnesias, I nestle in perfect harmony with the worldlessness of my selfhood. I am fae, fey, faeye, feye, fairy the bird who drinks sweet nectar from the tiny queen's cupped palm. Here I know no plagues, no big plans to evade and no charitable activities. I have to knock the poetry out of my dead head. I crouch under a poem, I've made it too strong this time and I can't risk facts. I don't want it's ominous head to rear up from under my throat, I can't handle it, not for anyone. But a boy anoints me and I stare into invisible eyes, my mouth opening like a dying dam.
I’ve always felt overwhelmed by the raging heteronormativity I have to cope with and adapt to every day. From oppressively stereotypical nuclear families to lack of media representation, it’s as if life itself is reminding me every second that I live in a world where I’m mostly not welcome. Poetry has become my glitch, my escape, my favorite mode of expression. This is a poem about how I feel when I deal with the world on terms not my own.