My wife bought a new bed quilt
It needed to happen 
The old one, unified in white,
In it's conformity, 
Attempted to create calm
In place of life. 
Signified a surrender, 
Without breath. 
This new quilt, 
With it's golden birds
Stuck in flight, 
Beyond their fixed positions,
Doesn't have the right 
The sides are too short, 
The length drapes 
Over the edge 
Daring you to protest
It's defiance 
Of expectation, 
Of a prescribed notion
Of how one ought 
Or ought not. 
Should I wear a skirt
In solidarity? 
My length 
That has no width. 
My broad shoulders 
That have no hips to 
Put them in their place. 
My shape, that defies 
Prescribed notions 
Of a man's gaze. 
To place the quilt 
In a sensible, 
Safe orientation 
Of length 
Of width 
Of surrender to
His visual privilege 
To see what he expects, 
Sacrifices truth to 
And form. 
Birds to fly sideways 
Contrary to their instincts 
Adrift from their joy in 
Would only lead to dysphoria 
The orientation would be 
All wrong 
Let the proportions confound,
The deep knowledge of
This truth
That reveals 
A rebellion to an untethered 
Aesthetic of white conformity 
Or birds that don't understand 
How to fly sideways anymore

--Madison N., Adult