“Sometimes I forget that sidewalks can be safe. Sometimes I confuse their shooting eyes for the bullet that met yours. Sometimes I imagine the phone call my mother would get. Can almost hear my sobbing friends. Smell the lillies on my casket. Touch my girlfriend’s black dress. But brother, I am tryin…”— Miles Walser, foxthepoet.blogspot.dkTagged: LGBTQ+ Poetry, Transgender
“We are carcasses. Untouched boxes of condoms. We are public secrets, playground jokes, and horror films. We are costumes, stuffing, binding and makeup. We aren’t real men to them. Invisible til we’re screaming. They don’t remember our names until they read them on our tombstones.”— Miles Walser, foxthepoet.blogspot.dkTagged: LGBTQ+ Poetry, Transgender