National
Coming
Out Day
a thing i did
so long long
long ago, and
still do to this
day
because, to be
in a heteronormative
cis-hierarchical society
means, if you don’t
conform fully, you
must explain yourself
constantly
constantly
constantly
Trans Day of
Visibility
Trans Day of
Being
Trans Day
of Moving
of Growing
of Expanding
of Transcending
all expectations
and irrational rules
that the rulers of our society
deem
“right” only by way of
following
and not questioning
and having our heads down
as lambs in line for slaughter
but our Black Sheep
our Trans Sheep
our Questioning
Querying
Queers
who force others to ask
“Why”
of those usurpers of power
when only faced with the fact of our Existence
and though that scares some into
violence,
Trans Day of
Power
reminds us that
Simply our State of Being is enough
to topple regimes that seem to have been around for ages
[but hundreds of years is nothing
in the grand scheme of our
Existence]
Trans Day of
Millennia
upon Millennia
of our History
Trans Day of
The People
Trans Day of
Reminding Ourselves that when we feel
attacked
and disempowered
and scared
we have All of our
Ancestors
behind us
Trans Day of
Visibility
today might be
a terrifying day
[especially in the u.s. of a.]
to be Visible
to be Trans
when we are the scapegoat
of all that seems to be
the system
breaking
but Trans Day of
Enlightenment
Trans Day
of Knowing
that every
Trans Day
of
Visibility
only makes our Magic
More Apparent
We Are
Sacred
and We Have Always Fought For
Everyone’s
Liberation
i’ve been legislated out of existence
[or so some people seem to hope]
but i still feel pretty damn real
so try something else,
you absolute
fools.
bury me in my most beloved outfit
of the day
but make sure i have something
extra
in case the next day
is a different gender
or vibe
[i wouldn’t want to be misgendered
in the afterlife
or by the tiny larvae
exploding through my skin
eating me from the inside]
i can’t wait to be
a few slivers of fabric
and mostly bones
and maybe someone will figure out how to tattoo on my ribcage
‘nonbinary’
so every archaeologist will know
to make no assumptions
from my skeleton’s makeup
just vibe with the tiniest microorganisms
that i brought with me
daily
and i’ll try to explain
to st. peter
or hades
or whomever i have to
what being ‘gender chaotic’ really means
and hopefully
after i’ve shuffled off this mortal coil
and no longer have to adhere to a physical form
i can be what i’ve always thought of myself
internally
it’s funny how gender-affirming sparkly nail polish can be
for me
for my estimation of in-between genders/
outside of the binary/
erring towards chaos/
creative/
forgoing gender
for individual
whatever/
in that mode
sparkles
on my nails
feels so
right
if i write
what i always needed
as a child
what might that be?
because i was pretty satisfied
when i was that age
of the grand adventures
and imaginative natures
of many of the stories
with heroes who looked
a lot like
me
but what i need now
is to have noticed i needed then
a mix between girl and boy/
that any harsh division
is unnecessary/
and that i don’t/didn’t need to carry
the weight of an entire gender
on my young shoulders.
should i write
a protagonist
who thinks that?
or would they simply come off
as
your early 2000’s Mary Sue
(and since when has that stopped
any aging white boy
from doing
pretty much
exactly that?)
i’m not a boy
or a girl
or a human really
i’m just a chaotic mess
a bundle of sads and stress
stuck together
hiding
in a trenchcoat
trying to get tickets
to something
i probably shouldn’t see
you feel me?
maybe i
will continue to buy
certain girly styles
just to get the high i get
by giving away the things
i rarely wear
to trans-femmes early in their transitions
gender affirming wear
from gender diverse friends—
giving gives me so many fantastic feels
i wonder
if my mother
would have been great
at getting my pronouns
right
would she have stood up for me
at family gatherings
corrected people
when i wasn’t near
would she have been
the ally
i needed
to come out
with a bang
instead of this subtle
exhausting
whispered
coming out
over
and over
and over
again
every time
a ‘she’ is uttered
or a ‘ladies’ is announced
or any of those microaggressions
my gender dysphoria
insists
are actual aggression
i don’t know
i wish i knew
but i really don’t
she was an ally of all queer folks she knew
(I know 100% she’d have been to my wedding
would have celebrated like the world was ending
when she knew mine was just beginning
because that’s just the way she was)
but gender is somehow harder
and the in-between confuses even the best
of allies
and i don’t want to put her up on a pedestal
nor do i want to underestimate her devotion
to a me she never got to see
i only knew her for eleven and three quarters years
and i have memories of less
she is both the person i was closest to
and the biggest mystery of my life
and i just wish
i could guess
what it would be like
to have her
stand up
for me
had big enough feels
to feel the need
to express it
sans poetry
via prose
and who knows
how that ended up
but i might re-read
and edit
and submit it
at a later date
so folks who might not know
start to understand
how emotional labor
takes its
toll
kipventures 