they/them: a poetry anthology

inky binary

My body is not mine – constructed as cyborg,
automation apparent in the design flaws.
I have never felt like my skin fits
as I am conscious – this body was meant for she
who never understood who he really was.

They made her out of glass
and steam hisses among her joints, her elbow squeaks, her body fills with light;
they painted her in binary
and set her in the world.
But I know.

My body is not mine – a steampunk collage, perhaps,
or crystal and cool as a thousand years lost.
They stretched skin over glass framework and
expected there to be no mistakes. It was almost perfect.
There were a few too many 0s and 1s inked upon its surface.