I stand in the locker room
shakily grabbing my bag
There is a scoff and
I am told that I am not a man
That I do not belong
Pull my ribcage apart with
your bloodied hands
Count them and rectify
only twenty-three
Scrape your fingernails
against the road of my veins
Alter the pathways and
direct them as you see fit
Gouge out my eyes, my tongue
Play my vocal chords
Put me in tune
Carve my jaw in your imagery
Stain me with your morals
your mannerisms
Disconnect my joints
Make them bend in a way
you find acceptable
Reconstruct me in your idea of masculinity.
25.11.2023