god made me queer a dance-theatre play

I ask how long and when, but never who or how.

Ze: My face came so close to the buildings. I thought I would collide

The art of learning to love yourself by slamming up against a brick wall of those who don’t love you, who don’t know how to love you, but willingly exploit you. Strangers who tell you to trust them. I want to trust the stranger, with my body, with my feelings, with my life.

We sit together at the front of the double decker bus, feet sometimes touching the panoramic glass walled before us. The concrete buildings, and the concrete walls of  i-95 in New England running backwards as we move forward. His pale hands rapidly winding themselves around two needles, knitting fabric. I fall asleep somewhere after taking pictures of his dexterous hands, and a series of out-of-focused streetlights in the rain.