Jack T, I miss you. Space is such a far way away. Last message before leaving transmission range:
I've been texting you.
I hope u haven't left yet.
Here is Jack's morning foray into the new drug in my life and its effects
(8R,9S,10R,13S,14S,17S)- 17-hydroxy-10,13-dimethyl- 1,2,6,7,8,9,11,12,14,15,16,17- dodecahydrocyclopenta[a]phenanthren-3-one is not the drug - delightful regression is)
Love u again...
Signal recieved from Jack T
When I turn the hot water tap on in the morning,
the house sings it's disapproval.
The pipes squeal
and the walls echo the pleas.
Okay okay, I'll have a cold shower
my testicles sing their disapproval.
But that ain't such a big song n dance,
since I started HRT,
they have shrunk lots.
I never quite had the balls to fight in the UFC,
now I have no chance..
Coz they would inspect my blood and say
'Sir, you are positive for steroids.. you obvs don't have the balls for this.'
Oh well, poetry doesn't need balls anyway.
It needs Moxie.
Like CR Avery tells me while we cruise down High Street tryna work out if we are ethical sluts,
or just guessing with the windows down.
I don't have the balls to finish this poem.
Can't really be salmoned swimming upstream this morning..
I do look good in Salmon though now, with my clip on muslces bulging post a dip
in the river.
I flick through my phone for something old to post..
The best part about never making it,
is people forget your poems.
You can use old lines from old poems,
over and over
and barely anyone notices.
You can rework ya sentiment along with the words
till it is sexy as hell
Probs all ya fav lyrics were perhaps less lyrical once before..
don't forget that...
I tune the hot tap just a tad below it's 'whyyyyyyyyy me?!!!' whine frequency and enjoy Luke's warmness.
He's the leader of our crew now.
(since my castration)
He's a good leader.
He walks high and tall
and the sky opens for all us little boys,
dicks in hand..
who ask his approval to start being kind to women, and ourselves.
The water hits my skin and I'm awake.
I wrap the towel around me, tug it a bit higher than usual, hide my last percentage of body fat.
Tug a bit higher.
No need to worry about anything swinging low below.
I put on my shoes, then my pants.
A padded jacket made for chipped shoulders,
I slip it on easy,
and head to the city to school
to learn how to be an artist