His busted lip
The lipstick split in half, mouth rouged into a painted avalanche
His dress ripped by the butch hands of drunk seamstresses who read his high femme as an invitation
His tits might as well be papier mâché, how they crumple under the weight of these a**hole entertainment clichés
I tell him, grin so big that they catch fire when they see the whites of your teeth
Tell him his nails weren't painted knife-colored for no reason
Tell him, when you touch that stage, kid, you best be magic
Best be able to walk on puddles of spilt rot gut without sinking
Best be able to raise erections from the dead
Confuse the sh** out of these straight-razor men
Best be Mother Mary, who*e in a martini-gla** dress
This is what is expected, this drag
This exaggerated woman, this mockingbird's eye shadow
This crowd: a stampede of angry hands
This performance under interrogations, headlights
Sam, where were you the night you lost everything?
The last time I made up my face into a glossy magazine smile, there was no mirror that could hold me
I was a stone-cold vixen fixed on getting the dress code down perfect
My wig: a beehive
My hips: full of honey
It's only when this man gripped my throat like it owed him money
Coins pouring out of my mouth like a holy slot machine, that I fell to my knees into a pogrom of bees
I suppose he wanted to teach me what he thought being feminine means
The tiled eyes in the bathroom stall were so cold I stopped breathing
See, some men own their masculine like a beaten dog
Some wear it like a suit of grandfather handguns co*ked at a pendulum in the gut
Some of us keep driving it into concrete highway dividers in order to compare the size of our explosions
My busted lip, my ripped dress
My grotesque deflated breasts
My chest sheared and heaving
This, it is where gender is compressed into an aerosol can
Where it takes a gentle thumb to explode paint over all scars
But know this: even for the worst of us, it is blood that makes men hard
So walk to the stage like you just bought the bar
The lights won't ask no more questions
The audience in the palm of your painted hair
Know your legs could short-circuit an electric chair
Put your face back on, darling
Pin your hair back up, darling
This whole world is a drag
Keep dancing