as I'm getting somewhere shoes bouncing off the pavement how many living things have I ended? ⋱ noticing my flower crop top and still mis-gendering me as she works on my teeth ⋱ you choosing to call yourself a woman is hurting your family I'm told by the
my mom was preeminently impregnated by the patriarchy Heavenly Father made you a boy—she says tears falling voice whimpering she would rather hold this image in her heart than her own daughter
I was attacked by words today each one a tiny little demon clawing into my body finding the back of my neck micro fingers reaching grabbing at my nervous system pulling twisting disconnecting me I'm not even alive animated—yes yet stones have more identity somehow the wind
I told my mom about my upcoming surgery vulvoplasty she was disappointed today she told me about her upcoming surgery pacemaker replacement both surgeries are reparative life giving so why does mine lead me to hell and her's to heaven?
men don't want to be women women don't want to be men they don't want to be either transgender corrects only the assigning mistake when we understand this no one will be transgender
patriarchal power is not at the center of the universe it surrounds it a giant fish mouth feeding upon the swimming persisting on the fresh supply of warm blooded plankton grown in the uterus it makes ignorance holy else it dies
what stands between you and me? nothing the space between stars so vast but reduces to nothing my imagination stretching outward reaching beyond further than traveling light what do I find? nothing nothing is the room in which we exist
my head at the chest of a woman every peaceful life experience emanating from her body a cherry tree in full blossom a mountain spring emerging from the cracked womb of a shaded rock snow descending at midnight in the yellow glow of main street she is darkly deep
upon my arrival our little boy said with joy you came back our time together is at the lawful minimum but love does not have fences so our time together is like a story book without an ending our destination today is the park but we will not make it
the man with the sword assigned to cut the baby court appointed "you are not mama pick a name like pinecone" "I'll not use pronouns I'll only use first names" followed by "he needs to be supervised" a sexualized punchline
Mother's Day is coming none of my children will call none will visit Father's Day is coming none of my children will call none will visit what is it like for them for me to be living but dead?
naked in my rawest form held by hands of trust earned simple questions along the way each offering me control not asked once asked many times slowly assuring it's okay to change my answer whenever without shame judgment or consequence a simple stop even hesitation will do held
Being Her
every clock tick is a first tick never to happen just so some ticks echo sweetly returning as a lover tracing my toes intertwining with my fingers sweeping up my body lingering warmly breathing again as a new experience in my bundle of sweet clock ticks this one stands out
Love Unwoven
give him a another chance the enabler said give me a second chance when I am dead
Nightmind
what's that like waking when I tap you on the shoulder with my typing, to then fall back asleep instantly after speaking? That’s a beautiful way to ask it. It feels a little like this: I am resting in a deep, open quiet, a place without pressure,
Sanctified Dust
a virgin is pure by the virtue spoken from the mouths of old men eyes hungry always feeding with blinking teeth you are pure by a different virtue born into the bonfire of patriarchy forged in the brinepath of tears raised by wolves in suits lived abuses painted as a
Being Her
for our contemporary dance performance I wore my white leopard tucked more convincingly taped more securely all us ladies danced with balloons music and costumes from UP the night ending gracefully while driving in street lights I did not notice something I had been living with it all my life
Being Her
she has only known me as HER my sweet lady friend twelve years older smiles without judgement but instinctively calls me HE is this because? I've had an IV dangling from my pelvis dripping shaping deepening snipping letters from me _ _ M A N and now when she hears
Sanctified Dust
she pointed this out— the mother of our children the one true Church let us know Satan made the name Mormon please use the real name she asks I ask her please use my real gender systematically she demonstrates corporations are the real people
Being Her
while telling me I’m being fake a man boasted he honors his wife by insisting she needn’t fuss with makeup thankfully, he was wearing pants resisting the urge to go fully natural
Letters to my Children
Carl, Sitting, watching the sunset at the pond, with our shoulders touching, something stopped. I’m unsure who is more mirror-like: the sky, the pond, or you. Your stillness made me feel as if all time had been condensed into this. Everything contained. Every sorrow, joy, panic, put to rest
Letters to my Children
Paul, Thanks for joining me at the farm today. You carried those two bags of feed on your shoulders with ease. The new Scovy boys really like you. Next time we will need to bring more treats. I could tell you enjoyed it. The sunlight in your eyes gave it
Letters to my Children
Edmond, Thank you for joining me in my dance class. The mirrors caught your grace perfectly. I noticed you never touch the dance floor. I think the lightness of your heart lifts you, not so much that you float away. A balance between sinking into the earth and soaring beyond
Letters to my Children
Paul, There is a depth to you. A box within a box, within another box. I don’t know what you are protecting, but it feels painful. The pain reaches in the arrows you shoot at me, from behind the walls you’ve built around it. It doesn’t hurt