there's no coming-out story like announcing your gayness
in a room full of other people's plastic plants, manufactured
autumn leaves, food that takes two days to cook but two minutes
to inhale rather than making small talk. your dad accuses me
of being an edgy middle schooler with a cartoon bomb
because that's the only thing he thinks of when he thinks
of anarchy, and all i can give thanks for is deep breaths,
contrived self-care apps, and the possibility of silence
in about a week. like the pumpkin spice and oranges and reds that
will inevitably be replaced by a perfect storm of the commercial
during which i always wonder what's more awkward—
anti-imperialist theory at the dinner table, or explaining pronouns
to anyone ever—and then decide that i, the only trans individual
alive for the time being, am the cause of all interpersonal conflict—
like stuffing and overdressed salad, i contain
every allergen in existence—
mk zariel (it/its) is a transmasculine poet, theater artist, movement journalist, & insurrectionary anarchist. it is fueled by folk-punk, Emma Goldman, and existential dread. it can be found online at https://linktr.ee/mkzariel, creating conflictually queer-anarchic spaces, and being mildly feral in the great lakes region. it is kinda gay ngl.
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