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I’m six or seven and dreaming that I’m a boy. I emerged out of the water
and went into the garden with a small silver hand between my thighs
Later, in the shower, I see a boy naked. He is contagious, and
I can feel mine. I was told not to stare then, but my eyes have never been larger,
in & out of my body, my stare kept growing, iii-iiii-iii-iii-ii-i-iii-i-i-i-i guess that’s what’s called flesh memory.
Oh, how I wanted to tell him that we had switched places! In my dream
I’d had him on me, but I didn’t that day when I told her the dog was a wolf
and the rock was a cliff, and you’re a horse! I said, if the dog was a wolf
and I a boy she could be a horse, sure thing, she had no excuse

And we were running then, horse and wolf and girl, braces on her teeth like
a bridle, a bride, a bridle. I felt tight against supple, cool against hot,
wires and skin. I’ve always been like this

Some days I feel like my body is straightened, held up by thin braces,
metal spikes embrace my spine, my face, my cunt. I can feel myself from
above, but I can’t see who’s holding them. It would be easy to think about
submission, but I don’t think it’s about submission, it’s about holding and being held

We ran willingly, horse-like, girl-like, boy-like. Her voice neighing in the back
of her throat, and when I came closer we collided and kissed in the passing,
on the mouth, like horses do. I said, her thin lips over enamel and steel.
I felt the outline of her braces against my own, little silver arms reaching for each other

„Jag blir aldrig som du. Aldrig. Jag ändras hela tiden […]”

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