by Haley Bossé
Believe me, I never suspected,
I never thought critically, never
Wondered what was under her skirt, I
Heard she wanted attention,
Just needed money, just
Hated that boy so much
She destroyed the one thing he loved.
I heard she
Never existed. No, it’s not silly.
You never know what a thing
In a skirt will turn out to be:
A boy, a gash
In the earth, a tongue
Licking the rusted lip
Of a doorframe, an excuse
For luring that teacher
Back to his classroom. I heard
She sat outside his door for hours,
Heard he never let her in, I
Heard she wrote his name
On her arm with a pencil
So many times he started to leak
And then pour I
Hear they just gave up on
Finding her. I heard her
Crying in the woods
Outside of town, trying
To remember who she had been
Before we called her what she was I heard her
call out what she was I heard her call me what
I was I heard her pencil breaking on a desk I
heard the leaking of my self I heard her crying
out my name I heard her name me what I was
I heard her ripping denim skirts and soaking
them in flames I heard her laughing at their
suspect singing out my name heard her heard
her pouring back her blood her arms around
my waist I heard the screeching of an owl I
heard her say my name
Haley Bossé (they/them) is a queer, non-binary poet, educator, and maker of things you can hold in your hands. Find Haley on Twitter at @TalkingHyphae or guest editing a Non-Binary themed issue of Eye to the Telescope.
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