my gender is blood and metal

i dont-
this is silly and fragile and palpably out of tune.

my gender is stain-glass windows, 
dying flowers
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
washed-out jeans 
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. 

The End

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