Sitting on park benches idly, I hear the sound
Of eager young tongues calling out
Begging to grow beyond the billboards of
Perfect and pretty grown women

I drag my hand on the pattern of the wood finding dirt
hidden in its crevices, buried beyond sight
I still feel a comfort in sitting here swaying my feet
back and forth, because dirt does not bother me

Sand is still sand on the beach and in my shoe
It remains the fine and grinded little rock
That it is by the sea when it washes down my drain
We love it only in abundance, only on purpose

A tiger is a beautiful thing lounging in its cage
Or captured in its primitive essences
Through the light of my screen. But otherwise
She is a threat to me up close, personal

Sick beauty in the way that rain runs down the window
Races itself, demands the attention of daydreamers
Who will hate it when it rears its real and ugly truth
Of wetness on skin, the shivering evil  

And the dirt on the bench was something I’d ignore
Until it found its way to the underbelly
Of my sensitive fingernails, making a home
Of my most private and intimate parts

Carter Kirby (he/they/theirs) is an 18-year-old emerging poet based in Cabot, Arkansas. His work, which has been featured in a handful of youth anthologies and blogs, chronicles his experiences with queerdom and growing up in the conservative South. When he's not writing, he's bullying state politicians on Twitter (@punkishgrandpa) and IG (@yawpcore).