this is silly and fragile and palpably out of tune.
my gender is stain-glass windows,
chipping black nailpolish
the smell of hydrogen peroxide
my gender is crammed bookshelves,
leaking pens in smudges of green and black
the gentle whirr of a fan in wintertime
as i bury myself in blankets
my gender is button-ups,
palms smoothing the pleats of my dress
the trundling, thumping sound of a washing machine
my gender is fresh clothes
warm from the dryer and smelling of laundry detergent
glass bottles clinking
colored glass worn smooth, buried in wet sand
my gender is complicated
beautiful and astoundingly ugly all at once,
ticking time bombs and a peaceful settling in my chest.
my gender is mine,
and it is soft
and it is nonexistent.