Self-portrait of a better self

high heels and broken nails,

your ankles staring at me, tattoo and all,

dry rain sucked in concrete

and the trembling hand

smoking my last cigarette –

you could’ve been a painting on my wall

or an open bottle of wine in my cellar.


instead – you chose distant dreams

of an uncertain tomorrow,

hand in hand with the illusion of love.


in the end – there will be no one

to cuddle against; no one to

fix your broken heels and torn out nails.


alone – you will be nothing more

than a gender-uncertain version

of myself.


drive safe.

the dawn’s about to




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