My doppelganger must be female bodied
because y’all keep calling my uterus
a mansion. Revise: I want to cut you
and your calfskin. My family has roots
in meat packing. And my hips are so wide
my children must be, will be, need be
gorgeous; won’t they? But I am only an em
dash—nothing can fit itself inside a line
but a boy who needs attention. Cellophane
is see-through. My chest: leftovers,
and milk spoiled in the fridge. My mother
doesn’t like calling me by a boy’s name.
But she does it. Wrap yourself
tighter, Kayleb. Everyone sees through.
The boy inside needs a womb.