Not to sound
problematic,
although it’s likely
more complicated than that
but self-proclaimed
straight girls
love me.
There’s something
nostalgic and endearing
in my inability to
construct sexual innuendo
in a meaningful manner.
There’s something about my
squishy arms, stomach,
short round legs,
my not-too-feminine
and not-too-masculine
edges softened
with just a little mascara,
applied incorrectly.
There’s something about my
voice, hoarse but not so deep,
not so threatening
not so dykey
not so uncomfortable.
There’s something about me
that reminds them of their
high school boyfriends,
genderless, or almost.
Something that reminds them
of nights spent in the back
of shitty Hondas,
pounding PBR,
the crinkle of condom wrappers
and maybe a McDouble,
afterwards,
if he was a gentleman.
Non-threatening
easy
fun and wild
with something to prove
casual
but safe.
Csilla Richmond is currently finishing up her BA in English Literary Studies at Humboldt State University. She hopes to continue on to get her MFA in poetry sometime soon, but until then she spends most of her time falling in love with dogs and getting paid to make mediocre pizzas. She lives with her cat, Olive, in rainy Arcata, CA.
