Burning Muse

As I Lay Me Down To Sleep

longenoughjustsolong:

Dear So-Called-God, 

I want to thank you for not making me in your image. I want to thank you for giving me limbs and a brain that was not fashioned from my keeper’s rib. Thank you for being my celestial mechanic and electrician, and wiring me with an abundance of that beautiful little chemical your kingdom calls androgen. Thank you for giving me the intrauterine conditions that you gave me, may it be less oxygen, a smaller/ larger space, less time to incubate, an umbilical chord wrapped around my premature neck, whatever it be, I thank you for my prelife habitat. Thank you for my genetic lottery, thank you for the spirals of DNA that run through both my paternal and maternal ancestries and extended families. I thank you for knee scrapes and basketball shorts, I thank you for Avril Lavigne and Lisa Frank. Thank you for arm weights and Lady Gaga, androgyny, scissors, black eyeliner and blazers, thank you for men’s sweaters and plaid shirts, for Katherine Moennig and the Quin twins, thank you for nike kicks and converse and skinny jeans and leather, thank you for Urban Outfitters and Men’s Gap, for Ralph Lauren and combat boots. Thank you for my parents’ professions and liberalism, for tattoo ink and tongues, thank you for Sappho and breasts and light hazel eyes, for short haired women in heels. Thank you for literotica and the safe search off button, for Katy Perry and her bubble gum musical stylings. Thank you for Andy Warhol. Thank you for the L word and Dass hair salon, for the late Outwrite, Piedmont, the streets and rooms left unnamed and Rows 34-36. Thank you for the Domus. Thank you for Rick Santorum and The Westboro Baptist Church and for rainbows and the art of love and protest. Thank you for everything that makes me love who I am. It may not be a picnic for us, but sometimes straight people make me think we’re the lucky ones.