October 2026 - Vol. 23, Issue 5

Make it weird.

Scream at me

In the middle of the street

and tell me that part of me

is also part of you

and how

we should recognise each other.

Rest your cane against my chair

and hear my stories about the queerness

of being an everything fucker upper.

Let's count bruises from our many falls,

swap TMI until daylight fades

(does TMI exist when you're

queer and disabled?),

even if after

we will never see each other again.

I crave for that connection

and sense of recognition,

for there to be an us

When there was one.

So I look at all the bodies

when I'm outside

to see if I'm not alone.

That hint of gay,

a little limp,

a kiss, an aid,

a bit of weird,

a sign that others like me exist

in this liminal space.

We are all connected

in this bit of understanding.

We don't know each other

but we know each other

and isn't that

the most beautiful thing?