My name sounds like a promise. Your mother whispering “I love you” when you’re far too small to love anything else.

Cole tastes like chocolate and it smells like bread. It looks like a sunset and feels like a sunrise. The sky is flushed from its work and the sun is luminous, my static black hair absorbing its light. We’re standing alone in the snow wondering where everyone went.

Born in the first week of spring, but with a name and face like winter. I fell from your minds like flakes from the sky. Memories dissolving like snow.

My deadname tastes like sour milk. You swore you would drink it but now it’s been a few months & cream turned to clumps. 

It sounds like your mother whispering “that never happened” and bathing in tomato juice to remove the smell of your own thoughts. It feels like going to school after taking 7000mg of Tylenol because I am not going to miss my friend’s birthday even if it takes my life.

It reminds me of putting out Friday night nukes. Of trying to stop fires with my own tears. Putting bandaids on dead bodies and being far too young to know anything else.

Cole sounds like a resolution. I get coal in my stockings now, but at least I like my name.