My Dentist Tells Me I Have Abnormally Large Nerves

and I wonder if that applies to the rest of my body. Every illness unexplained by nurses’ shrugs, all overgrowth. The headaches through childhood due to an abnormally massive brain -- not in the intelligence sense, just a lotta room in there, an echoing mansion-brain with a foyer skylight shattered by the tight skull loomed outside. My knee problems in high school from big joints swollen against their caps. I was fitted into too small a skeleton. My marrow pushes me up into a constant sprint. My eyes, my ears, ill-fitted parts I’m not smart enough to name. The TMJ comes from the nerves trying to escape their chokehold. Would my veins have broken from the pressure if I hadn’t occasionally drained them in youth? Maybe my heart is literally too fucking big. I know you saw that coming. Maybe the raw rip of my fear, the confused burn, is my heart trying to break out from between two too-big lungs. I don’t even know if these are metaphors. To be unaware of the state of your own body is a deeply American thing. Refusing treatment of pain I can bear was my first lesson in American masculinity. Mystery illnesses growing into me, then growing on me. Doctors have fully fucking shrugged because I couldn’t afford further investigation. And now I’m finding out my wreck of a mouth is full of huge literal nerves. I walked out and paid four hundred dollars.

Myles Taylor (they/he) is a transmasculine poet, organizer, award-winning poetry slam competitor, barista, Emerson College alum, Capricorn-Aquarius cusp, and glitter enthusiast. They run Moonlighting: A Queer Open Mic and host at the Boston Poetry Slam. Their work can be found in The Shallow Ends, Academy of American Poets, Washington Square Review, Underblong, Crab Fat Magazine, Slamfind, and others. Follow them @mylesdoespoems.