rewilding

the moon will sing croons a lyric of
a love song you thought was deep when you
were twelve & you stare at the sky to realize that it
groans rather than singing, pours thunder down when

it's having a bad day, only ever grimaces
like a newly minted teenager in a bad mood.
you don't know what people's fucking problem is, staring
into the abyss and expecting to find something of meaning—
and you don't know why people make small talk with you
knowing you'll nod, smile, leave—

nod, smile, overanalyse, freak out about how you either
sounded like a girl or a cryptid, nod, smile, disintegrate,
breathe, break. i lost progress on my voice training croons
a Discord message unread, and maybe the moon doesn't sing
but whispers, tries on a new baritone for size, rejects it

in favor of a low, otherworldly hum that he somehow
finds affirming. if nature is queer maybe you need a little rewilding
you say to an idiot, knowing that what we say to homophobes
is, unfortunately, true about us. you wonder if your gender is only real

when it scatters like the stars in the night sky, unattainable—
stare, smile, leave, wonder who you never got to be.