sinister
i should be writing,
instead of zipping up my pants,
still lost in a memory
of something i never had or touched,
of someone i could never be.

i should be writing great poems
about this and that,
and the great whatever,
about discovery, celebration,
and affirmation of simple existence,
but i am lonely, and a little lost
between high heels and high tops,

it's just another day.

yet, some moments are enough
  to quell my demons,
  to keep pretending authenticity,
  to silence the desire i hold in a dark corner
    of my heart.

as the day drifts toward night,
  i close down my browser,
  smooth out my blouse,
  snap up my jeans into place,
  turn the lights back on
  and unlock my closet door

  for quick access when everything is too much
  and i feel the need to hide,

    again.

jacklyn henry is a transfeminine writer that will sometimes post things at 1870 magazine, because she can.