I am the most feminine man you know!
So feminine, eyeliner melts off my face
In the sweat of your friend’s punk show,
glitter flaked on my cheeks like wild dirt.

So feminine, my chest is full and girly soft.
I know you’re used to masculine empty space,
but guys, that’s just the kind of man I am—
I’m soft hearted past the bone.

So feminine, my voice sometimes rings out
in high birdsong trill despite my best efforts.
I don’t mind if you notice, as long as you
imagine my bird more colorful than I look.

So feminine, I have an F on my driver’s license;
a signifier saved for the girliest of boys,
the prettiest men in town. F like fresh fruit
and fate and “I’ll be whichever fairy you want.”