I-Bethany

poem 1 there is a tight constricted feeling in the hole, right in the same place the ribs meet, right under that and it feels as if its burrowing into my internal organs. ‘your my favorite work of art’ is what the screen says, with four voices singing in my right ear; but it keeps burying itself in my chest and everytime I sit up it flicks a little more, pokes a little deeper. They said that they’ll call the gender police if someone tries to gender me. All I want to do is wear black jeans and loose shirts and muss my hair with gel, and then I also want to copy this fic, lets copy Louis’ method: ‘dots from the