When the Train Jumped the Tracks

Coming out to myself was the hardest thing I ever did.

What I’m afraid to tell you

is that you’re right, that moment changed

Me. Not change in the Metamorphosis cockroach

sense, but in the simplicity of a switch flicking on

at the end of a dark, dark hallway.

 

What I’m afraid to tell you

is that I was afraid, more afraid than even

my worst phobias, because I knew my finger-tips

were aching for something other than stubbled faces,

muscles taut as strings under skin, or even

the gentle push of a hand on my back conducting

my rotations around the dance floor.

 

I wanted hair leaking down to cover my collar bone

as kisses donned my ribcage. Lips leaving trails of

triangle bird prints from the one that escaped its

forest in the pet store.

 

I wanted to run fingers across a back and feel that

special spot she once told me about, where a woman’s

spine joins lush hips meant for mounting, but instead

trace race tracks carved into curves of bone.

Author's Note

The description says it all.

Reviews

[Patient Poet (Yos)]

Beautiful and tender first touches :)

[A.Taylor]

wow. I'm not doubting the fact that it was hard for you ... but if this is what you were thinking about at the time, I would have much rather come out in your brain than mine.