By Gabriel Z. McCreath
content warning: suicidal thoughts (but like, overcoming them)
we went to the taco bell drive thru + i didn’t want to kill myself.
it was glorious. momentous, even.
i got a steak quesadilla + you got a chicken quesadilla +
your girlfriend got something with beans in it.
+ my brisk dragon paradise sparkling iced tea
said not tonight death. not tonight! fuck that!
+ we put one direction on the car stereo
loud enough for me + soft enough for you.
we watched star trek on the floor
of our tiny dorm room + we ate our taco bell
+ my dad said you’ll hate taco bell
but i think i like it. i think i love taco bell actually.
i said dad i’m going to taco bell.
good luck my dad said. + i said i am lucky.
+ i am lucky.
Gabriel Z. McCreath is an FTM poet from Massachusetts with an enthusiasm for writing about queerness, mysticism, and general awe at the world. His previous work has appeared in Bullshit Lit Mag + Press, Typishly Magazine, and JAKE Magazine. Find him on X and Instagram @gze_mcc.
Taco Bell Quarterly 