here is a queer coming-of-age novel without a coming out scene
I would let her
destroy me, no doubt
I’m a hapless
dyke and she’s got
lemon rind laughter
that makes me shudder
through my born-again
baptist sunday-serious self
she’s got sacrilege
written like jolly rancher stains
around her lips it’s
like, the flesh is weak
and willing, giddy
little stolen sugar packet
swig from a syrup bottle
aged like an impatient sigh
and dripping condescension
for those who just
don’t get that she’s
only and exclusively
the manic part of manic
pixie dream girl not half
as trapped in another life
I failed driver’s ed
in order to take it with her
and we crashed the car together
and of course it didn’t
go up in flames like we
wanted so there’s no use pretending
we didn’t douse it in lighter fluid
while licking butterscotch
ice cream from our sooty fingers
Wylde Parsley is sometimes a writer and always a cryptid enthusiast. Their work has appeared or is upcoming in Birdcoat Quarterly, New Flash Fiction Review, Vagabond City Lit, Rio Grande Review, Every Day Fiction, and various other publications. He can be found on Twitter at @emjparsley.
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