Uno Gonzales

Uno is a lesbian poet with an affinity for alliteration and an aversion to any and all conservative convictions. 

Easy read of the poem in the image above:

bruise butch

after When You’re Six by Nice Rodriguez
CWs: mentions of mild violence and child abuse

Sang a love song to banana fritter girl at age six.
Collar popped and hair slicked. Just like Elvis, she said.
Kicked the mean boys square in the fucking balls at
seven. Nursed angry wounds with hose water and rust.
Chopped off waist-length hair at nine. Said it felt
right. Even when slapped across the mouth by dad.
At twelve, body bulging, swelling, savage with pubescence.
Still a butch when mom threw out half a closet full
of loose t-shirts. For your own good, she said.
Sixteen with a sweetheart cut corset prom dress.
Pushed aching tits up to clavicle level.
First bottle of concealer. Dabbed it over the mark
left by an ex-friend and his violent mouth.

Eighteen, wondering when this body stopped being your
own. Wondering which of these bruises count.
If tomorrow, you’ll still be butch.

Wake up at twenty-one, naked on her dormitory bed. Letting her
stagger a finger across your chest. Letting her cheek press against
the noise of your stubble.
Won’t let her touch you just yet.
But you’ll sneak a kiss after you’ve flicked the lights off. In between,
try out some conversation and conversation some more. Pull
laughter from each other’s mouths, strings of wit stripping the
shape from shame. Hurl a lick of insult without the injury,
everything you’ve both ever been told, all without its bite and bile.
Call each other beautiful.
Play dress-up.
Take turns picking at an errant stomach hair.
Among other alternatives to sex.

Wake up at twenty-two,
twenty-three.
Next to her,
or alone.
Still a butch.