Chester Wilson iii
X-Men: God Loves, Man Kills (Marvel Graphic Novel #5)
Dear Professor X.,
I have the notes you asked for.
I like to skip class and people-watch, I like to lie and
call it investigative journalism: The Worlds Behind
Closed Doors. no one hears my footsteps bleed between
rooms, tracing out my path like an invisible spool of yarn.
one of the teachers is teaching me to walk through walls.
no one notices me stop to watch a boy in the locker room
pick and cry at his arm being calcified in a matte black, it
deepening and spreading like a slow mold. no one gasps
when his fingers rub too fast and his arm ignites like a
matchstick, or when he runs to the showers fully dressed
to smother his arm in the harsh water of the showerhead.
a teacher is teaching me to walk through walls because no
one else will, because no one sees the girl in my chem class
flicker between the light to the beat of her own
stutter, or the boy in the back who always wears a hat and
once shaved his head to hide the way his hair would redesign
itself between classes, transmuting blond to green and back again.
he contorts as he walks between classes, beneath the guise of
a black hoodie, spoon feeding his walk down the hallway.
my teacher tells me to write a book with the pain I’ve seen
the world where reality bends and my peers grow horns.
If you can come and get me, I think I’m done watching
the horror of change.
Sincerely,
Me
Dear Professor X.,
I have the notes you asked for.
I like to skip class and people-watch, I like to lie and
call it investigative journalism: The Worlds Behind
Closed Doors. no one hears my footsteps bleed between
rooms, tracing out my path like an invisible spool of yarn.
one of the teachers is teaching me to walk through walls.
no one notices me stop to watch a boy in the locker room
pick and cry at his arm being calcified in a matte black, it
deepening and spreading like a slow mold. no one gasps
when his fingers rub too fast and his arm ignites like a
matchstick, or when he runs to the showers fully dressed
to smother his arm in the harsh water of the showerhead.
a teacher is teaching me to walk through walls because no
one else will, because no one sees the girl in my chem class
flicker between the light to the beat of her own
stutter, or the boy in the back who always wears a hat and
once shaved his head to hide the way his hair would redesign
itself between classes, transmuting blond to green and back again.
he contorts as he walks between classes, beneath the guise of
a black hoodie, spoon feeding his walk down the hallway.
my teacher tells me to write a book with the pain I’ve seen
the world where reality bends and my peers grow horns.
If you can come and get me, I think I’m done watching
the horror of change.
Sincerely,
Me
Originally from Chicago, Chester Wilson III is a queer black junior at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign studying Creative Writing. He has poetry appearing in a forthcoming publication of POETRY. Chester has previous publications in 826CHI, Levitate, Genre: Urban Arts, and Parallax.