Somewhere Between Gender and a Love Story

Somewhere Between Gender and a Love Story

Call me babe. Call me kitten. Call me pretty boy.

Call me a dandy, an affectation, une quelque chose. Call me old-fashioned. Call me now. Call me hard. Call me soft, with your hands in my hair.

Call me in moments you think of me. Call me when you forget I exist. Call me desperate, call me open. Call me legs. Call me, smiling. Call me on days you’re out of town. Call me pumpkin or professor or sir.

Call me goofy and tired and lonely.

Call me dramatic and overwhelming and everything. Call me the sweetest gay fat boy you’ve ever met. Call me a lover, a lighter, a firework.

Call me for reasons you don’t understand.

Call me a villain. Call me a sacrifice. Call me stupid. Call me out on all my crap. Call me when you’re in the next room. Call me a waste of time. Call me back.

Call me frigid. Call me a taxi. Call me wasted, sometime after two.

Call my dad to say he has two sons sometimes.

Call me a crybaby. Call me a liar. Call my bluff.

Call me in the summer. Call me because you dyed your hair. Call me when I have to be silent at home. Call me cinnamon sugar. Call me hot like the temperature. Call me with a joke.  Call me a nerd, call me handsome, call me cute.

Call me useless. Call me by name. Call me she, they, or he. Call me disrespectful and heavy and goodhearted. Call me your friend, call me an artist. Call me to forgive me, to deceive me. Call me to tell me you don’t care for my tone, young—

Call me a girl, call me a boy, call me a woman, a man, a person. Call me anything so I can smile and go home.


About the Author

Abigail Denton is a tired writer from Mobile, AL. She has been published in JAKE, Corporeal, Sublunary Review, Worm Moon Archive, and Shirley Magazine. Free Palestine and end all colonial violence.


Photo by Alexander Andrews on Unsplash