I am reworking my reality.

 How does a tranny
coexist
   with lust,
      being told of an
   “unattainable” touch
even with the saliva of a man
   dripping off of my chest
  how he bites at
my soft parts
      and kissed me
   rigid.

I think this man
   could love me,
  fuck me
      outside of glory holes
      a bathroom stall
I think he could
bring glory
   to all the empty holes
      in me
but still I’m stalling.
      Stutter.
   M a y b e
      I could love him too.
M a y b e
   j u s t,
      m a y b e

   My reality
is reworking me.

This piece is part of a collection of works by trans and queer Indigenous writers and artists. Explore the rest of the feature:

Prose by Kai Minosh Pyle ● Interview with Lindsay Nixon ● Visual art by Fallon Simard ● Interview with Ziibiwan Rivers ● Prose by Jaye Simpson