My boyfriend laughs at feminist rants,
And the term “faggot” still escapes his lips,
Leaping through a screen.
This is not what I remember of him though.
I remember the selfless moments under the surface,
The kind words that shape me into what I wish I could be, and the hope.
I fear, of course, the birth of a child, born into a world of laughter at
Feminist rants and “faggots” escaping lips.
My love, bogged down by gendered baby clothes and makeup
And high heels, knows not what can seep through his bones into
The eyes and ears of his DNA,
But I do.
And I fear it.