You have no idea how happy I am.
I don’t think you could understand why.
I, as left as they come, and visibly queer
You, staunch in your Midwestern motherhood
Ideologically, we’re on altogether different playing fields
But we meet in the same room —
You, for education
I, for money
In mutual agreement that my body is a source for art.
You, studying my frame and agonizing how best to charcoal in my body hair
I, unbothered undressed for no-names under fluorescent lights —
Despite our shared loves of tattoos and pixie cuts, you could never be as bold.
I, retraining my attention span in naked meditation
You, chatting up the 20-year-olds who just want to get their art degrees in peace —
Don’t think I never heard what you were really saying.
You, adrift in the cornfield winds of regression,
I, unashamedly securing a hopeful-future —
History may never recognize your face,
But you drew proof that I was there.