When you tell me I’m responsible for the pee on the bathroom floor
I find I must educate you on the inability to tame an organic fountain and the mindless geyser it produces
– ? –
Is this really the argument we’re having right now, can’t you just clean it up for Christ’s sake
– ? –
And we devolve from there, the pinnacle of our loving repartee
Clawing our ways to a bottom that does not exist
Fathoms with fingernails
Splinters and bloody bone
Fathoms
Until stuck pigs sound like opera singers
Until f’s, c’s, and k’s fill our mouths like an orator’s sea-polished stones
Until the ugliness of everything fed to us about our gender comes true
Bandages stripped, wounds rotten and exposed
A slow pulsing tear in the stitching of our skin
Welcome to everything your little heart desired, welcome to the promised land
