Size / / /

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normal god,,, pls let me trannier! glintier!! slipperier!!!

buffoon me into our leggiest flight suit . . . now

sic your physickers on our meat and see their mitres

bounce into the rafters! spitspangled i rise,

eyes a pulverized visor, glass forehead agape (three

syllables): i want to be full of bubbling chemicals.

thumb green, gormless green, mattress

commercial purple. give me 1 more life & i’m blind

open as cut venetians! fresh breaths the crescent grip

of a bow i’ve got both shoulders somehow stuck in.

arrows totter from my ass like pillowdown. i waddle

fallow to the mud, i wallow, alive!!

take that to the bank; suck me all the way

up the tube and settle my complaints. 3 pennies tinkle,

grinning on the tray but don’t sully you, leave them!

leave them, god. i'd feel awful if i knew i'd made you change.

i will lose for us both: I'm growing,

so treat me early. LET ME LIVE. SHOOT ME

INTO SPACE



Like any good great terrible wyrm, Palimrya loves you, which is why she spent seven drops of her precious twiceblood to grant you each an arrow-melty mantle, a full belly, and a wet green biome to bleed in. Find her stories, poems, and roleplaying games on your bathroom floor, and feed her furnace @palimrya on twitter.
Current Issue
20 May 2024

Andrew was convinced the writer had been trans. By this point his friends were tired of hearing about it, but he had no one else to tell besides the internet, and he was too smart for that. That would be asking for it.
You can see him / because you imagine reconciliation.
It’s your turn now. / the bombs have come in the same temper— / you in your granny’s frame
Friday: The Hard Switch by Owen D. Pomery 
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