A List of Unseen Contradictions
My dad is black. But you wouldn’t know it by looking at me.
Last summer, I held a man’s gaze as he died from a stab wound. I think about it sometimes after prolonged eye contact. What do you think about after prolonged eye contact?
I kissed a girl when I was twelve, and fell in love with a woman across a crowded bar when I was twenty-two. But you wouldn’t know that by watching me hold hands with my ninth boyfriend.
I love the smell of petrichor, and hate the pretentiousness of the word petrichor. And I hate that anti-intellectualism has made me hate words with more than two syllables—petrichor, petrichor, pe-tri-chor.
I once held a gun to my head, fully intent on pulling the trigger. But you couldn’t know that by looking at me.
In my dreams, I’m usually a man, and sometimes I think I can feel my pants getting tighter when I imagine another man running his palm against my stubble.
I love to take long baths. To hold my head underwater, lids open, looking at the wobbling world. Until my eyes sting. Until my chest feels like it’s being crushed in the grip of some ancient god. Until my muscles begin convulsing. Until I know I still have control over whether I live or die, and I—
allow myself to breathe.
I’m a big fan of sonder.
And heated blankets.
I wonder what you look like.
Are your parents still together?
Are you reading this twenty minutes from my writing it? Twenty years?
If you were to read it, and I passed you on the train platform, would I be able to tell by looking at you?
Dom Danielle is a junior at the SUNY FIT where they study fine arts with a minor in art history. Their work has been featured in ICON Magazine.