Ghazal for My Gay Ass

No lie, my tongue breaks down before a beautiful boy.
Poetic superpowers stripped, I return a plain-old boy:

At fifteen, I learned I was ugly. I stopped looking in mirrors.
Fat unrolls from my frame, escaping from the cursed boy.

I am so big but so small. The city is watching my weight.
If he balloons, they think, he’ll only be useful as a buoy.

My uniform fails to fit. I am a hunchback disaster.
When I grow up, can I disappear? Leveled, in a rice field of boys?

Of course not. These boys were built before they were born—
chess pieces. Action figures. Everywhere, I kiss the same boy.

I can’t help it. They all seem so sturdy. With strong arms to carry
burdens, deft legs to evade them. The army of himbos.

I give in, spin myself into a blow-up doll. The right holes.
Curves precariously stuffed with air. Whatever pleasure is to the boy.

He doesn’t wait till morning. When he cums, he goes. On a good day,
he slaps my belly, says thank you. No matter. I know I can’t keep the boy.

Max, why do you love things you’re not destined to have? Because I love
believing. Try hard enough and I will live a life unburdened by boys.

---

Max Pasakorn (he/she/they)(@maxpsk_writes) is a queer writer of creative nonfiction and poetry. An alumnus of the Sewanee Writers’ Conference and the Lambda Literary Retreat, Max has previously lived in Singapore, Thailand, and the United States. Max’s creative nonfiction chapbook, A Study in Our Selves, was published by Neon Hemlock Press in 2023. Max’s other writing has been published in venues such as Foglifter Journal, SUSPECT, Witness Magazine, and elsewhere. Read more about Max at maxpasakorn.works.