god is the trans punk who hand-sewed a toy whale for my secret santa.
the punk who sits at the head of the table and in all their singularity amongst pretty-girls and oxbridge-boys demands kindness.
the punk who evades any form of malice. never has anyone spoken ill of this god. not even those who say that every atom of someone like Them is unnatural or a problem. everyone except Them.
God smiles gently at me and laughs like someone who knows far too much. someone who is kind to those who are not kind back.
I stare at god and do not realise until they wave and grin.
god drives me home from a party whilst blasting pop-punk from 2010
god shaves their head by themselves.