My Coming Out As Trans-Elderly

Thirty-seven dollars in nickels

Rolled into neat little stacks:

I’ll use them to buy some dill pickles

To eat for my mid-morning snacks.

I’ve got a compulsion to do this,

Though no logic yet as to why.

Perhaps I just want the grocers

To think of me as “that guy.”

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Seriously, Just Don’t! It Takes A Certain Charisma And/Or Unusual Size

Why must titans always clash?

Why can’t they just get along?

Titans could have tea and cake.

What about that is so wrong?

Why must titans always fight?

There’s other things for them to do

Like fly a pretty titan kite,

Play titan games, or make a stew.

If you’re a titan reading this

En route to your next clashing spot

Please know that you are not defined

By your ability to crush a big robot.

And if you’re a non-titan bloke

Just casually reading ’cause you’re bored

Don’t try to unclash titans too

‘Cause most likely you’ll just be ignored.

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Dear Internet: Why The Exception?

You can’t mock someone ’cause they’re fat,

Ugly, stupid, stuff like that.

You can’t make jokes about a race

(At least not to somebody’s face).

You can’t gay-bash, slut-shame, or mock

The way one laughs or thinks or talks.

But you can defame or spew hate at

Those with neckbeards or a fedora hat.

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Or I Could Be A Colonel

I don’t want to be a gastroenterologist.

As a career I vehemently denounce it,

But should fate make me a gastroenterologist

I guess at least I’d learn how to pronounce it.

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Zero Weddings, A Funeral, And A Reasonable Question

This evening we sit

In memory of

A weekend that

We came to love.

‘Twas two days long,

Five days too short.

Why’s there no satisfying

Single player sport?

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Logic, American Dream Style

Monday through Friday

My heart’s only dread

Is that midmorning song

That says “get out of bed.”

Yet come days of Satur

And as well days of Sun

My heart sings in the morning

‘Til the day is all done.

For when clocks of alarm

Cracks serenity’s hold

And says “put on your clothes

“And go do what you’re told”

My vigor and pep

Aren’t what they used to be

Like when I was a child

And still blissfully free.

When instead of alarms

To the sun I awaken

And instead of my job

I get pancakes and bacon

My bliss flows more freely

And I feel stronger.

From now on I’ll work weekends

And be miserable longer.

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Life Without Makeup

Chapped lips, dry skin,

Hair without a bobby pin,

Baggy pants, hairy pits,

A shirt that hides any sign of tits,

Spotty face, mustache line,

Eau de toilette called “big ass pine,”

A house that others call a sty:

Just another great day of being a guy!

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