I’m myself sitting in the Sistine Chapel very miserable and very sexy

O Michelangelo your legacy is very gay

many people ask me how I got the name Wolf yes my mother but you ask cause I appear to have earned it and, with an O-ish flare, I have

I am a very average transgender but also lucky in rich, easy ways the way I feel about this is a cinematic gaggle of fingers twiddling in mwaha silk gloves

Michelangelo earned a lot and was also a black pit of gay

sometimes I lay on my bathroom floor and wish I knew nothing but then… I know

his women have men’s bodies and the fresco babies are bellied with ash

who forgot to put down a coaster! for there was a roaring gay bash in the heavens for you, Mimi, lots of ash there and heavenly tequila, too

doesn’t life feel like a boring party all the time?

or is that not dramatic enough…

my mother sent a text today that changed many things

would you like to see?

Don’t worry about being wanted. You need to be doing the wanting. Not the other way around.

you could use a little mothering Michelangelo.

I can tell by your Chapel that you were given too much emotional leniency at young, or perhaps you were left in Leonardo Da Vinci’s first invented car one hot summer making your brain old Roman pudding swamped with gas and marbles

my mother once left a show we were seeing together because there was a chosen family in it and I said I wanted one but that brought her terribly close to carving menacing eyeholes in her red alligator handbag

how angry it makes me now how angry I must be at her otherwise I’ll be a much worse thing and cry teeth bared at plebeians

O Michelangelo your art can range a chapel but you are empty inside

If you were hot I’d give you a kiss and it would make you do some normal-sized paintings of real things

if only mother had understood… I wouldn’t be home at 4:00AM… I’d write a poem for my heaven husband Michelangelo… Mickey I will call you… or Jello…

from the bathroom of the dubstep club I love you..

and I choose your long name like a bumpy cliffside and your crazy art which I can one-up in looniness… when I die and slip under my life like historically accurate Henry’s-wives’-heads we will be proud of each other, Mick, escort ourselves to our valeted carriage, and steer along the golden coast of gay reward eternity…

Michelangelo and I very miserable and very sexy…