I’d Tell You to Kiss My Ass But Then My Girlfriend Would Sue For Trespassing By Zaynab Quadri

I’d Tell You to Kiss My Ass But Then My Girlfriend Would Sue For Trespassing

you say that it’s a sin,
a goddamned sin,
for my girl lips to touch
her girl lips,
for her girl hands to roam
my girl parts,
for me to find pleasure or sexual catharsis
in anyone who dares not possess a penis.

the disease: Gay Perverted Evil Wrong.
the cure: a bath in holy water.
you tell me i just need to find The Right Man
(who may or may not be jesus).

but that’s because you don’t know
how the room smells like candy and gasoline
after she’s had her way with me,
sweat glistening like magic on her skin,
the covers warm with her heat – our shared joy.
you don’t know how her chapstick tastes,
how soft her lips are when pressed against my teeth.
you don’t know how she laughs into my neck
when i sing her name to the ceiling,
turn these four walls into a church
with a prayer to something
bigger and holier
than both of us.

if the bigots find their way to heaven,
clutching their beads and crosses in sweaty palms
while stampeding towards the pearly gates,
my girl would be the onesitting on god’s shoulder
smoking a cigarette and
creaming them in cards against humanity
while all of humanity looked on in amazement.
because not even the almighty creator can resist
the way her nose crinkles with delight,
the impish mischief in her voice,
her quick mind and her sparkly eyes.
neither would you, if you were ever brave enough
to meet her gaze head-on.

your old testament morality is overrated,
your bigotry boring and uninspired.
i don’t need your straightlaced heaven
or your tepid hellsauna
or your fist-shaking, ball-busting,
vein-rupturing judgment.

heaven is her giggly sigh between my thighs,
and hell is the way you look at her
when her hand finds mine in public.
jury’s still out on the judgment bit, but
i’m fine right here for now,
walking in the park and feeding ducks
and watching her stop to pet every dog in sight.

if loving her is the greatest sin i’ve ever committed—well,
that makes me a better candidate for Future Angel
than the sullen ugly stone of your heart
ever made you.

By Zaynab Quadri


Zaynab Quadri is a first-year PhD student in American Studies who dabbles in poetry and fiction whenever she’s not wrestling with research papers. She thanks you for your time.

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