My Gender Won’t Fit in the Family Car

My Gender Won’t Fit in the Family Car

KB’s Origin Story

I was born a weary son
painted into a family unit. I can’t 
fit in, but I do fit jeans if I squeeze 
into them enough. I pain myself 
with laughter when someone asks 
whose baby is this. I sleep 
in a tunnel of judgments I can’t kick. 
I was born a drury daughter, 
a crash into a tiny parked car. In the impact,
my gender sprawls all over 
the navy leather passenger seat. 
This can’t be a wonderful scene:
the navy leather passenger seat
and my gender sprawled all over. 
A tiny parked car crashes; in the impact,
I was born a drury daughter. 
In a tunnel of judgments I can’t kick, 
I sleep. Whose baby is this.
With laughter, when someone asks 
into me enough, I pain myself 
to fit in. And I do fit genes if I squeeze 
paint into a family unit. I can’t 
be born a weary son.

Yebba’s Heartbreak

—after Drake 

I do. Count how quickly the moon moves 
phases & how quickly I abandon a poem 
draft for another half-baked memory. The scraps
document in my mind must be at least 300 
pages. My dating profile must be at least 3 zodiac 
signs, 2 fun facts, 1 fatality I’m still recovering 
from displayed in every emoji. My manuscript is spilling 
over with head-turners & heartbreak. Paper clips
& Drake playlists have never been stretched this thin. 
I want to do better but I don’t know how or when. Maybe 
10 of the scraps are romantic; I say it’s cause I leave 
that shit to Sinatra. Truth is I leave pages 
(& lovers) soon as it’s inconvenient; too vulnerable;
too meaningful; I do. But today I want
my skin tethered to this chair. I’m staying 
inside these stanzas; I’m finally ready to tell 
the truth. All smoke & piano & somber 
spillings of times a lover treated me all perfect & I packed 
up prematurely. Her eyes crusted open 
as my glutted gym bag swung across me 
& when her sepia irises filled with my reflection, 
I had to flee. Candyman. Spewing sugared 
empty statements like of course I love you out of unknowing. 
Of course I am a liar & I am learning for you. For now 
I’ll say I do & vow to finish more sapphic poems 
after I wrap these wounds. Tell her Honey, my love spreads 
farther than my need to hide behind history for you. I do.