It will take Seven Years to Digest this Poem

Which is the same amount of time it took me

To wash the scent of him off my skin 

Seven years 

Since I left my childhood in the rear view mirror

Which is the same amount of time it took 

My mother to say the word 

Gay 

Seven years is not that long

When your body becomes a time capsule

When the man at the store shares his face and

The way I was raised drips 

Through the cracks of my new life

I still hesitate when they ask which checked-box 

I fall under

By the time you’ve digested this poem 

I hope my spine forgets the way his hands feel

I hope sunday mornings come and go without 

Feeling like a sinner who’s 

Time is running out

I hope my body 

Finally feels at 

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