White t-shirt casually flung lightly,
draped over your right shoulder.
Left elbow points towards the sky
as your left hand massages the back of your neck.
I’m a few steps behind, following you,
unintentionally at first but that soon changes.
Catching your sweat on the stifling breeze,
the harsh manly smell of your armpits.
Watching as beads of sweat roll down your back,
hitting your waistband,
some down the top of your crack.
Your body twists checking for traffic,
a flash of your hairy chest and your side profile,
skin rough and shimmering in this heat.
A detour for me, this isn’t the way home,
just to watch the muscles in your shoulders move,
to catch you on the breeze again.
Feeling overwhelmingly other,
being one of the others.
where all the other others?
Lost in every metropolis,
drowning in the majority,
the majority of the minority
that the majority
thinks us and wants us to be.
A spectrum obscured,
disguised by the loudest of us,
falling between cracks
Lost without reference points,
falling out of pigeon holes,
too much for some,
too little for others.
Ash crumbles snowing onto my knee,
his harsh whisky breath burns my eyes,
this deck chair wasn’t built for two.
Chlorine stench and early morning haze,
I trace around his tattoos with my finger,
she’s passed out on the diving board,
naked with her arms dangling down.
I’m gunna kill her first chance I get,
cut her up with my man’s favourite knife.
For now I’ll watch him dream of me
as the sun rises over this motel.
‘Just be yourself’ is terrible advice.
This world runs on bullshit,
no one likes the truth.
Being yourself puts you at odds,
you see the jokes before you,
their lies shape your truth.
Being yourself leads to odd questions,
and judgement by other’s standards.
They tell you to ‘be yourself’
while they’re being someone else.