Grayson Thompson
juniper poplar

I knew a guy who lost over 100 lbs
by running away from himself
he taught me to start small
like a building
and eventually turn the world over with my feet

the first block felt like getting hit by an alabaster whale
the dark wooded bridge
reminded me of how fast ghosts can run
I wrapped myself in swisher sweets and smoke

the burn makes everything okay in the end
when my time comes
bury me in a coffin of compliments
because even what you hate deserves to rest
my bones are made of moon ashes
let the earth swallow me whole
I’ve always wondered what it felt like to move a tide

Grayson Thompson is a Black, queer transgender man. A poet, moonlighting as a therapist. He has been featured in Belletrist Magazine, High Shelf Press, Cathexis Northwest Press, and forthcoming in Beyond Words Literary Magazine. A wanderer. He chooses madness: of the wild, of truth, of love, and of dreaming. He hopes you can find some in his poems.

Read more from Cleaver Magazine’s Issue #42.

Submit to Cleaver!