the game of life played by a queer person

Spin the wheel, move the car.

Get a job, marry, kids, money.

To gamble it away at eighty-four.

Start again.

Spin again, different colored car.

Different job, marry, kids, no money.

Still no money at eighty-four.

I don’t wanna play again.

Spin the wheel, I like bikes,

But this game only has cars.

I wanna freelance queer education,

But this game only has boring jobs,

Like pilot or tennis player or banker.

I don’t think about marriage and kids,

Even if the rulebook tells me to.

No idea what I’m doing at eighty-four.

Planning that far ahead is not my thing.

Stupid game, stupid rules.

The wheel lands on seven, but today

I don’t feel like moving at all.

The rules tell me to move.

I tell the rules to shut up.

If you want to play life by the book

go check the rules,

I’ve crossed them all through.

On the wheel from one to ten,

I score eleven.

If that’s a problem, fuck life and fuck you.

I win.