teach me to play the piano,

and i’ll teach you about thermodynamics.

your hands are too cold, and mine are too warm;

don’t you want to know why that happens?

 

why, when we touch, you melt and i stiffen?

beyond our emotional dependencies,

beyond our touching hands and our locked knees,

beyond my past, my memories:

 

take me past who i used to be.

 

over the river and through the woods,

but don't take me to grandmother's house.

take me far past the castle, past the sharp briar rose;

wake me not with a kiss, but a sound.

 

say my name and remember who i am,

and i will remember it, too.

and we'll skip church on sunday;

we'll just have our own day,

with my dog and some tea, safe at home.

 

teach me about your identity,

because i think that will help me with mine.

because i don’t know my gender or labels;

because i’m lying when i say that i'm fine.

 

teach me to care for an orchid,

and i'll sing you a few quick high notes.

and we'll write college essays

in my room, and we won't say

that after highschool, we'll walk separate roads.

 

tell me how you were raised catholic,

a trans kid with a deep fear of god.

and i'll put you to bed,

and i'll kiss your forehead,

and say, "honey, religion is flawed."

 

and after an hour i'll wake you,

with not a sound, but a kiss,

and as you drink warm chai tea, i will wonder

if you are someone i'm ready to miss.

 

and you'll smile and ask me, "what is it?",

and i'll smile and say, "nevermind."

and i'll brace myself for my future;

and i'll brace myself for goodbye.

 

teach me about my identity,

because i think you know better than i;

because i trust you more than i'd like;

because i just want to feel alright.

 

and i’ll teach you about thermodynamics,

if you’ll give me a bit of your time.