Written by Theodore James
cold kisses on my thigh
seconds pass and i
bin the piece, watching white
disappear down the hole
my breaths are deep and prolonged
an assurance to my body
something soft resounds from my phone
something sharp, in my hand
the liquid pulls as if magnetized
filling the chamber with my salvation
if sterile had a smell, it’s my wiped and readied leg on any given
Monday morning
if nervous had a taste, it’s the saliva i
swallow, counting numbers that don’t exist
i tease the flesh slightly
when i was a little girl i dreamed of dying
as a man, i dream of marriage. children. a house with a vegetable garden.
i suck in air like a reverse balloon
and convince myself
life is worth the pain
the needle hurts at first, then it doesn’t
someone sings r&b to me and my syringe, unknowing
a plaster over the red dot
i heal my own hurts now
.
Theodore James is a 23 year old transsexual male who writes so that he may breathe. He spends his free time reading, writing, overthinking, and eating delicious vegan meals. Formerly published in Roi Fainéant and Hot Pot Magazine, this young creator specializes in angst but also lives for a little bit of humor. His favorite poet is Danez Smith, his favorite color is burnt orange, and he loves the smell of the sky after a nice long rain. You can find him on twitter as @writeodore.