a word
to those
who misgender:
if we stop correcting you
it does not mean
it’s all right
in fact
the opposite
is true;
it hits us
hard
each time
to the point
where
we simply
shut down.
the energy to stand up for oneself
drains more and more
each instance
most
genderqueer folks
i know
(myself absolutely included)
would give anything
to be
a metamorphmagus–
not to live in the world
that TERF jk created–
but to be able
to fit our outside appearance
to what it is inside
as it changes
daily
some days i’d be
flat chested
small hipped
medium hight
the perfect twink
to flirt and tease and captivate with ease
and some days i’d be so ripped
so big
so swole
(imagine
being able to change your muscle density
at will–
to be able to build the strength
instantaneously–
what a circus dream)
and some days
i might
go back to this body
(or similar,
still probably
with less mass
most places,
but especially
at the chest
and side hips)
change my hair
to fit my mood–
no more dye necessary
to complete the rainbow–
but also
on days i want to just fit in
and pass by
i could
with the blink of an eye
a thought of the mind
visualize and divine
and for acting,
for roles,
never worrying
if i might be tall enough
or blonde enough
or thin enough,
no more worrying
about appearance as casting
only go for things
that hit my soul and personality
and make me feel something
if only
if only
if only
i cry
into the void
up towards the sky
out to a world where magic
ceases
the minute it reaches
me
or at least that’s how
it feels
to not fully be
meta
morph
magus
what a transphobic
existence
Poetry is not a luxury
i did not know Audre Lorde was the one who said this,
but she did
Poetry is not a luxury
it thought it meant it was not just for the upper crust
but a necessity for those without means
too
to fulfill artistic desires
inherent in human nature
for both survival
and for thriving
Poetry is not a luxury
she meant it as something more
as a necessity for communication
for the entirety of human species
but one that comes from
femininity
ok, she didn’t break it down like i do—
hers was the solid break
from men to women
from thought-based to art-based
from one solid half to another
but i think, had Audre Lorde been aware of
and exposed to
the identities we now know,
i think she would have given to the world
even more nuance—
the mixture of male and female
in all of us
and how two halves
are not half and half
and forever split
down the middle,
but how we can hold
the wholeness
in ourselves
and become a luxury
all on our
own
~~~~~~~~~
note: i am only two essays into to my copy of Sister Outsider–there may be new nuance coming, or thoughts on masculinity/femininity in each of us in poetry of hers, i just haven’t gotten to it in my reading
yet
my gender is gentle
a little bit fragile:
i’m Stede Bonnet as a child
in fancy, frilly shirts
continuing to pick flowers
and love the earth
as the world shows me
people are cruel
but by myself i may be safe
my gender is compassionate
a little bit foolish:
like a teen girl in love with
her first asshole boyfriend
telling her friends
‘i can fix him’
except for me, the him is humanity
it’s the entire world falling apart
it’s the earth i love that as a species
we’ve
set fire fire to
and destroyed
my gender is a plaything
i’ve pulled apart and fit back together again,
but i was never good at those projects in gifted class–
they’d bring in a rotary phone
and those who wanted could dis-
and re-
assemble as they wanted
but i never did it;
i said i was content memorizing lines for my latest production
or watching silly films about muffins made as a senior thesis
by a person i’d never met
online
(B.T. Before the youTubes),
but really i was terrified–
what if i took an object apart,
destroyed it,
essentially,
and couldn’t ever get it
back to working order,
so i never, ever, ever practiced…
maybe that’s why my gender doesn’t fit back
the way it used to
before i haphazardly took it apart–
but in a way,
though it doesn’t fit the way it did,
(and it sure doesn’t look
like
the box it came in),
it somehow suits me
better.
contemplating
calling out
misgendering
of myself
of my fellow enbies
it can be easier
to correct
an obvious gendered flub–
a she for a he
and a he for a she–
the identity and clues and presentation
are often there;
it should be
obvious.
but with those of us
in-between/
outside-of/
on a whole other
gender-level
clothing/
body hair/
size/
shape/
color/
means little to nothing:
we are sans gender
(or all genders together)
and all we are asking
is that you see us as a person
first
before gender.
and it doesn’t matter how
queer-friendly
or queer
a person is…
i’ve seen binary trans folks
throw ‘she’s around
in place of ‘they’s
‘he’s
for ‘xe’s
and it hurts
like a knife
to the soul
and i know social conditioning
is a struggle to escape,
and i know language barriers
can make it impossibly hard,
but if, in a queer space,
as you set yourself up
as a queer teacher
and imply the safety
for all
but still buy into a binary
[even if it’s solely through language]
you are proving
yourself
wrong.
***the emotion of this poem
is over a year old,
the initial person who prompted
this poem
has done a great job
of reeling in their language
and looking at the person
first.
but i wanted to write
and re-write
for catharsis purposes,
and i wanted to post
not only for a call-in/call-out,
in case you are a person
who sees gender
first,
but also to say
that everyone makes mistakes
even queer folks in queer spaces
and it can always be forgiven,
but know that we always notice
even if we say nothing
we always
always
notice***
Trans Day of Visibility.
i try to be so visible…
but my visibility often seems to negate my living experiences
(any time i wear the trans colors
i’m read as
only femme)
(and while i feel
not
the gender i was assigned at birth,
my taste often finds itself
aligning
with what my assigned gender
is ‘supposed to’ like)
(but i’m not just gay
as in happy
[though often i have this
demeanor]
i’m also queer
as in fuck the system,
as in i will always stand up for those with less power,
as in my entire identity will always be a political statement
because much of it is often politicized without my consent,
and i know of others with intersecting identities
on top of the identity[ies] we share
who will never be out of the line of fire from politicians
trying to gain power
over others)
so i’ll stand up
tall
(as my barely over five-foot-frame will let me)
and proud
of my trans identity,
my non-binary identity,
my queer-in-all-the-ways identity,
and tell everyone who will listen
‘yes, thank you for listening
to me,
an actual trans person,
but please
also listen
to those who fall under the binary umbrella
underneath the larger trans umbrella,
especially trans women,
and listen to those who fall under other marginalized identities,
listen to Black trans folks,
listen to Indigenous trans folks [Indigenous two-spirit people],
listen to trans people of color
listen to those folks of color with darker skin,
listen to trans people with disabilities
listen to trans people who aren’t neurotypical
listen to trans people who aren’t from your country,
listen to trans people who don’t look anything like you,
listen to trans folks who make you feel uncomfortable with your privilege
listen to trans folks who fight the system that was built to tear them down.
and honestly,
if you listen to those folks first
(which i encourage you to do)
and you have a lot of introspection to do
and you don’t have the time
or energy
or capacity
to listen to my words
afterwards,
i’d much prefer that.
listen to trans folks with less privilege than myself
expand your knowledge
first.
(maybe we’ll see each other in the metaphorical
‘audience’
and wave ‘hi!’)
the desire
to write;
it strikes!
~~~
shortest day of the year
is gone
it came and it went
(with such swiftness)
and now the days start to get longer
again,
and yet,
it starts here…
my slog
my sludge
my molasses of living
my fear
my anxiety
my processing darkness
why do the days feel so much darker
while they get brighter?
~~~
things that make me feel
exceptionally
more feminine:
roughed lips
curved hips
growing out the hair in my armpits.
things that make me feel
exceptionally
more masculine
tailored pants that somehow negate my curves
clenching my jaw until it changes the structure of my bones
imagining just the slightest bit of stubble on my chin
things that make me feel
exceptionally
non-binary:
just
being
me.
fuck dead names
give me the story of your living name;
the reason you chose it
(or it chose you),
tell me the person you knew with that name
who you always looked up to,
tell me the tv show you stole your new name from.
i don’t care what your parents gave you at birth,
it was a gift/a label/a force that didn’t stick,
(just like gender)
that doesn’t tell me about you,
your choices,
your wants and desires,
what draws you to certain characters/names/stories.
tell me your story,
i don’t care how long and convoluted it is,
i don’t care if you can only tell me half the story
because the other half is too personal,
give me the half you can give;
did someone give you a nickname that stuck?
did you wholly make up your name,
and that felt much more apt than anything pre-prescribed from society?
tell me about your living name,
because i want to know about
the living you.
i have been filled
recently
with inspiration
true inspiration
flowing inspiration
from all over
and this morning
i had
*something*
i wanted to write about
to explore in words
to contemplate out loud
[on doc]
but it’s left me
dry
and i’ve hated everything i’ve started so far
so maybe a prompt is the way to go???
~~~
are poems of dreams
really more interesting
than a telling of that same
dream?
a prompt told me to write
out
a dream i remember
in as much detail
as i can remember
but here’s the catch:
my dreams
(like my thoughts)
are conceptual,
abstract
(at least in what i remember,
retain;
the dreams themselves are pretty mundane)
i remember
[maybe]
[possibly]
dreaming of the pants
i decided to wear today
deep pockets
large legs
flowing around
but still split
my nicknamed ‘gender euphoria pants’
because they are technically genderless
and anyone can wear them
it’s just a lot of people don’t
and i think my gender is not aligned
with the male or the female
the man or the woman
but instead
i’d call my gender
Cryptid.
(so anything that sets me
ever so slightly apart,
that makes you go “i think that was a human,
but i’m not entirely sure”
that’s me
that’s my gender
that’s my euphoria)
but i think i dreamed of these pants
reaching into the pocket
not finding the bottom exactly where i expected
and maybe there was something important there
and maybe i did eventually find it
and maybe there were other people/places/things inside this dream
but what i remember
are the pants
and the reach
and that’s it.
was that actually interesting content???
~~~
(i wonder if there are any of our animals
who are trans
and would rather be
“misgendered” by strangers
than have us
continually
“correct” them.
i think this might be why
i so rarely actually correct the stranger.
i’ll use the pronoun i know them as,
but not make a big deal out of it
(unless we’re at the vet
and it might affect the type of care)
but just in case
the animal gets some gender euphoria
every time a stranger
refers to them
by the “opposite gender”
than i know them as
i don’t want to come barreling in
with a correction
that is not
actually
correct.)
kipventures 