Eventually you can’t help but figure out that, while gender is a construct, so is a traffic light, and if you ignore either of them, you get hit by cars. Which, also, are constructs.”― Imogen Binnie, Nevada
Your limbs have become flesh-covered ticker tape messages telling others around you how you want to be r(e)ad. You’ve stretched out your politics to wrap around you like binding, but in a different way, and when others call you miss or lady, you wonder if you could find a word that can detach from the feminine/masculine trope. You search for a human to love who houses various genders in their body; you wonder if someone were to dismember the scaffolding of your bones, what conjugation would dominate. Maybe you are looking to get hit. You test the concrete with your scuffed-up boots and as traffic drives by, you tease windshields and rotating wheels with your blur.