Icarus Grey

every time the washing machine stops

i have to lay across the top and press my tits to it

and it’s an uncomfortable reminder that i’m stuck in this fucking body

and when i take my clothes out of the dryer i figure out it ate another bra

so my next day off i find myself back in the neighborhood walmart a half mile up the road

and my feet take me where i need to go instead of the men’s section where i’d like to be

the stupid lettering on the sign overhead screaming once again about the situation i’m in

just like those extra fucking stitches on women’s dress shirts meant to “take in the sides”

and “accentuate the female anatomy” except i frankly would rather kill myself

i would rather run into traffic,

down a heartbeat highway, down the opposite end of interstate 80

than be reminded of the fact i have a body.