We have made the mistake

of inviting the dog

into the bedroom

to cuddle with us

for hours

during the day.

Now at night,

after our walk,

she stands at the bottom of the stairs

outside the gate

(trying to grab my shoes

if she can reach them)

and whines,

her voice a sweet sad song.

““How did she learn how to bark cute?”

my partner asks.

It reminds me

of all the gates

I have had to stand behind,

not because of healthy boundaries though.

But rather

not being holy enough

or attractive enough

or popular enough,

not being trans enough

or being too trans,

not being gay enough

or being too gay,

not being bi enough

or being too bi,

trying to turn my howls of pain

into poetry

while waiting for invitations

that had never been written.