Lets Get One Thing Halfway Straight:
I have spent my entire life
trying on costumes because no one told me I couldn’t and the
stakes were never that high which I’ve come to think is mostly what
makes a white writer a white writer. The last time anyone referred
to me by that name was exactly never but that’s also the point. I
am a queer poet. Child of an addict. Masquerading white boy. My
best friend died and it was sad and these are the stories I water
into bloom: camp counselor test cheat choirboy cypher rapper /
scratch golfer honor roll weirdo point guard / and Whitman says
very well you contain multitudes but he was a white writer too. The
not-so-funny thing about spending a life proving you aren’t
something is that any story that isn’t
the
story is survival or more
like a brick for laying until the wall is high enough that you’re safe
inside and you wake up and say whoops whose house is this who
did I hurt to get here and is it too late / to call for help.
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