walk-in closet

my gender uses too many coat hangers
both to drape & to dagger. i once removed
a string of pearls from my throat.
self-surgeries by desk lamp. 
who knew some people have
so much room. then again, you can
walk into just about any closet 
with enough determination.
who of us hasn't felt the green back wall
hoping to find destiny?
into a small closet. smell of moth wings
& shoulders. asking myself
what would it take to wander a step forward?
truly, i want to be the thoroughly
un-nested animal. i want crypts
to petal off me. water off
my back. instead i crave these 
ripe unknowing sphere. crawling into 
a personal anonymity. a collection 
of glass door knobs. laying out a blanket 
beneath the fleat of sweaters. 
no stars can exist in closets
but sometimes i swipe one. open it 
like a flip phone & watch 
as i gain a shadow for a flicker or two.
some people have so much they build homes
for their shoes. they invent 
a castle just to museum their joyful.
i am terrified of all closed closet doors
but even more afraid of them open. 
toothless in the dark. i step inside.
feel the damp warm walls. 
a mouth or a meadow or a minced word.
here my gender cacoons. becomes 
bioluminescent & delicate. 
belongs to only me. 

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