“I’ve Wasted A Lot Of Time In My Life. I’ve Thought Too Much About What People Will Say Or What

“I’ve wasted a lot of time in my life. I’ve thought too much about what people will say or what they’re gonna think. And sometimes it’s over silly things like going to the grocery store or going to the post office. But there have been times when I really stopped myself from doing something special. All because I was scared someone might look at me and decide I wasn’t good enough. But you don’t have to bother with that nonsense. I wasted all that time so you don’t have to.”

— Julie Murphy, Dumplin’

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THE YEARS All the parties you spent watching the room from a balcony where someone joined you to smoke then returned. And how it turns out no one had the childhood they wanted, and how they'd tell you this a little drunk, a little slant in less time than it took to finish a cigarette because sad things can't be explained. Behind the glass and inside, all your friends buzzed. You could feel the shape of their voices. You could tell from their eyes they were in some other place. 1999 or 2008 or last June. Of course, it's important to go to parties. To make life a dress or a drink or suede shoes someone wears in the rain. On the way home, in the car back, the night sky played its old tricks. The stars arranged themselves quietly. The person you thought of drove under them. Away from the party, (just like you) into the years. -Alex Dimitrov

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At my butches’ stripper bar you can watch butches
fold laundry, iron. Objectify them while they
slowly refinish a roll-top desk, take off a trailer hitch.
They file taxes, wear waders, bake you a layer cake.
I’ll lay her cake, my imagined patrons mutter. I think
of who I eroticize, how: they’re always getting stuff done.
At real stripper bars the women just dance; so many things
they could be checking off their lists. I guess men don’t want
to see women work? They get that at home? In my Champagne
Room the butches plant bulbs, build bookshelves, clean
basements, write checks to the ACLU, re-train
your dog. Fantastic grow the flannel plaids; they lean
and squint, lick pencils, adjust a miter box. They
make box lunches, chicken stock. The butches make your day.

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The legacies people leave behind in you.

My handwriting is the same style as the teacher’s who I had when I was nine. I’m now twenty one and he’s been dead eight years but my i’s still curve the same way as his.

I watched the last season of a TV show recently but I started it with my friend in high school. We haven’t spoken in four years.

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I curl my hair the way my best friend showed me.

I learned to love books because my father loved them first.

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