Transmorphosis (He knows)

He knows.

He knows
somewhere inside himself,
he is alive.
He knows
if he cuts deep enough,
someday he will find himself
and pull himself out of her.

He knows
it will be like
being born again,
coming out of a woman
and finding the man
that is inside her,
the perfect shape,
where the soft fat of breasts
has hardened into cut muscle,
where the round belly
has gone flat,
where the furred slit
of her wet, receiving sex
becomes the rigid jut
of his penetrating cock and
the tender swing
of his heavy testes,
where the round of her hips
becomes the plane and angle
of his Adonis belt,
where his collar bones lift
and his shoulders broaden,
and his Adam’s apple stops hiding,
where the voice that is already low in his head
becomes low outside of his lips.

He knows
somewhere within he exists,
and in there is the space
where his past lovers are not disgusted
by the change
or the fact
that they once knew his body intimately.

He knows
someday he will be a stranger to them,
and more perfect to himself
as that stranger.

He knows
if he could just peel himself open,
he could emerge,
the butterfly from the cocoon,
only remnants of the caterpillar left behind,
discarded as all lifeless husks should be.

He knows
someday these tears will dry up
and he will be free to be square-jawed with stubble,
and still kiss tenderly,
still love sweetly,
still be every bit himself as he ever was
and hopes he can someday be.

He knows
everyone must be born.
He knows
every butterfly must emerge.
He knows
every fire must be fed, or go out —

he knows
every living thing must breathe,
or die trying.

But he knows
there are not enough metaphors
to explain the change,
the transformation,
the metamorphosis,

and he knows that for every sentence that explains it well
there will be a hundred thousand sentences in retaliation.

And he knows
there will be fear,
and he knows
there will follow anger,
and he knows
there will follow hate,
and he knows
there will follow rejection.
He knows
there was enough of that the first time
he said he was different.

He knows
all of this,

which is why

he also knows
he will let her keep him prisoner,
where it is safe,

if suffocating,

a little while longer.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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