I was off my meds,
eyes impossible to shut off,
permanent streams staining
swollen cheeks.

the pharmacy was apologetic, but
without the right chemicals,
my healed facade broke
into smaller crumbs,
reminding me: the work
was never mine.

sensitivity, my greatest flaw,
dialed too high,
bass too low to hear
anything
but my rumbling chest—
not a melody to hum along to.

aggression, my mistake—but
it wasn’t really me.
frustration was too familiar
on our tongues.

stuffed bags,
seams busted—
you had enough.

knees met floor,
nails met face;
I begged Spirit to rip off my flesh,
so you’d see
I’m raw fluff underneath.

your hasty departure—
messy, clumsy,
leftover traces of plans
never to be actualized;
you’re still all over
my apartment.

all I had was you, but
by choice, not chance.
lonesome, a title I carry
honorably, but
partnership—the only miracle
I whispered to black skies
before I met you.

I can’t do this by myself,
and you knew that.
cotton fibers and vinyl print
scratch my tongue as
my screams are muffled by
the t-shirt you gifted me
back when you had the patience
to love me.

I try to hide my agony
from my neighbors, but
their laughs resonate
through my ceiling,
almost as if they are directed
at me—most likely at me.

forty-eight hours pass,
and I hear a ping. hoping it’s you,
I dive onto my bed,
clawing at my phone,
only to learn
that my prescription is finally
ready for pickup.

---

myles kuatepet (myles/m) is a disabled Two-Spirit dyke based in Houston, TX. m writes raw, vulnerable poetry that embraces taboo topics like lesbian love, trans joy, and complex trauma. When not creating, m is a devoted cat parent to a gray tabby named London.

Bluesky: @twospiritdyke.bsky.social