Home Aaron Porter
CONTENT WARNING: queer slurs, self harm
You’re walking down the street with your parents
When everyone sits down,
To the place where you are meeting your
You feel a tingle between your legs
friends
You excuse yourself to the restroom
The rowdy bar stops its chatter
You stare at your two options
All eyes meet yours
Skirt or pants? Mesmerized by them, the line backs up
Then slowly make their way down your
behind you
chest
Weird looks follow you as you open the
Their faces contort in confusion
skirt
Wondering why this teenage boy Has such a curvy chest
The ladies at the sink are reapplying their
Why his crotch does not budge
lipstick but
Why his leg is bouncing and
Freeze, petrified
His eyes are glued to the stone floor
“Sir? The Men’s restroom is the other door”
The waiter asks “Sir, how many?”
Your eyes burn, threatening to spill tears
You cringe
You remind yourself that real men don’t
Your mom’s voice sheepishly saying
cry.
“This is my daughter”
You walk calmly to a stall
The realization hits the waiter when he
Waiting for the chatting to disperse
sees your blushing face “My apologies ma’am”
When it finally does, you pull your pants down
You want to scream
Your orange boxer briefs taunt you until
Want to cry
they’re at your knees and sitting
Want to tear your breasts off
Your reflection mocks you as you pull the
But you follow the waiter to your table
plastic from your pocket
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