Jacklyn Henry


i am in a place
i should not be.
a place i have not been
yet it’s feels so familiar,
just as the sweat on back
reminds me of home.

different genders
and intentions
blend together,
a gathering of ghosts, ghouls,
and goblins

demagogues pretend
to be sainted,
the band plays songs
i do not know.

i drink girlie alcoholic beverages
just as mother taught me.
my protector from devils
out to consumer
her delicate child.

men approach and whisper,
i am witness to their ambition,
they do not care about discrepancies
in my anatomical approach,
they only crave that which they
cannot yet not define.
drool lifts across the rim
of a glass.

one finds his favor,
we kiss in a corner
without sunlight,
his hands ripple across
my silken valley,
only to pause at my surprise.

i lift my skirt at the alter
and piss out my opinion,
he stands at the ready,
other men come and go

it’s barely just midnight,
his desire a rainbow,
i whisper an offer,
it’s time to go home.

The Coming Day

he presses into me
his hands glide across my breasts
his unclothed
suddenly present
in the moment

a languid sun
gently into a morning sky

the world begins
to awaken
to rise
into a new day

i offer guidance
where none is needed
a sudden fire
across my skin

the quickening of my heart
tells the truth of the
day and little yellow birds’ flitter about
just outside my window
disinterested with the goings on



Jacklyn Henry is a transfeminine/queer writer living in the deserts of socal. their work has appeared in delicate friend, bareback magazine, flying dodo, and others.

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The Erozine