In this Panera Bread,

For three hours, my section has been empty, 

The sunlight pushing through,

Looks like a sunset to the corners of the room, 

I’m stuck on today, whilst the world has spun on.

Who’s to say I won’t stay behind, 

I wish I came out to myself earlier,

Maybe it’d be easier if I were born a boy, 

If i were gay,

To be thinking, knowing, nothing I do will be accepted, 

My family, I love them, I live for them, 

But they will never understand me, 

My needs, I’m terrified, 

I’ll live out my life taping this door shut,

But what happens if these responsibilities uncoil, 

Could I wake up with a dick, 

Take more medicine, 

But my eyes are closed, 

And tomorrow, 

I’ll still have my long curls. 

I searched up men with curly hair today,

Never thought it could be cool, handsome, but I’m going to the hair dresser’s soon,

I’m rebooking my counselor appointment,

I’m great at pickleball (probably because of tennis) 

I’m walking my dog fairly regularly 

I’m doing a routine, 

And in the mornings, I run into the same problems, 

But “don’t think”

And if I did think too hard, the cold exterior of washington mornings would nestle into my bones, 

Instead, these days I wrap myself indoors, playing Animal Crossing, 

The world maybe burning outdoors, my future maybe in community college, but just right now,

“Don’t think.”

Depression comes in ugly waves, 

Some mornings, my brain’s wrapped in cheesecloth, 

They ask for my score in pickleball, 

My brain hasn’t processed my existence in pickleball yet, 

Am I hitting it back? Oops, already did, the reflex is there from rigorous tennis practice,

As easy as the flick of a wrist, 

And when they praise me, a voice whispers “you’re a conman, you’ve done this before… you’re crap, you’re a cheater.” 

It’s not wrong, and when the hour ends, 

The Washington cold feels like a ghostly hug, dead, but still human, reminding me I'm warm.