future
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The ideaof men,of manhood,the way it tasted in my mouth,gaggingon my pitiful fortuned future,one where a manwith a hairy chest and no room in it for me,was what to desire,so I learned to choke back my own,believing a life without love,a throat full of thirst,was my white flag. So don’t tell me you always knew,because
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Hope courses through my veins,but one nick and it empties onto my skin.
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I yearn for tomorrow,
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I read my mother’s journals and yearn to have a child who will one day read mine.As scared as I am of what I may produce on those pages,for now, I still write on every line.
Lashanda Forsberg 