My gender is a writhing thing in the corner
I poke it with a stick every so often to see how it will move.
My sex is a warm pink alien I cup in my hand
There is a violence to my own touch that I cannot shake
When I touch my fingers to a boys palm I am asking him to hand me an answer
When I press my lips to a girls mouth I am trying to steal something I've never seen
When I wrap my arms around a person's waist I am begging to fold them into my ribcage
And keep them there until I can see the way forward