Toast
a repost of a poem, written in high school by yours truly.
Two slices of
The most exquisite
Finest
Perfectly done
Toast
Of all the things
That slice
Of plain, country white
Was destined to become
It became toast
Thrown in an oven
Baked to perfection
350 degrees
Five minutes
It could have been
The American classic: the PB&J
Fried into french toast
Dipped in olive oil and salted
I could have greased it in coconut oil
Like my grandfather always made it
Or I could have just eaten it straight
Cut off the crust and crumple the bread into a dough ball
They tell me
Toast is an appropriate breakfast food
So are eggs
So is bacon
Cake is not okay to eat.
They tell me
I am a man
A handsome man
They lie
False
Incorrect
Wrong
Fake news
I look into the mirror
Their lies twist
Growing
Consuming
It eats away at me
Nibbling at first
And then chewing me up
Devouring me
This cannot be
This bread was not destined to be toasted
Pan fried perhaps?
Or rendered into a sandwich?
You will never be a woman
They say
We can understand if you’re gay
But you will always be a man
It doesn’t really matter
You can’t un-toast bread
Sure you can dress it up, moisten it perhaps
But it is unmistakably carmelized to toast
I can dress up
I can lose weight
I can take hormones
I can change my voice
But at the end of the day,
I still have the body of a failed man
A frame of which I cannot escape, only sculpt
And no matter how hard I try, I can’t change that
No amount of media coverage will
Turn toast into bread
No amount of effort can reverse
What that toaster did
I eat my toast in silence
Staring into my
Empty cup of coffee