Poems of gender, emergence, and the sacred act of naming oneself.
Being Her
blue purple brown yellow like an animated cloud tattoo slowly floating spreading from my pelvis outward a mons pubis swelling forward beyond my stomach between my legs stitches hold together the newly shaped V blood-soaked pads pee exiting as a wide spade then dripping off my thighs painful healing chaotic
Being Her
leaning over letting gravity lift my hair allowing the warm air to dry more efficiently a morning ready ritual eyes looking at hip level seeing between my legs I am not jolted I am not ashamed I do not look away what is there is mine new—less than a
Being Her
on the scale it wasn't heavy of a normal size and weight Goodwin took it off today I didn't understand my dysphoric load until gone—I understood
Being Her
I met a young woman in the park today with a boy's haircut she was on her bike heading to work wheels rolling swiftly flowing in the direction of the river full of life and responsibility opportunities not usually extended to young women the earth circling back catching
Being Her
estrogen was enough to feminise my flow I practiced years of meditation with a mind full of testosterone watching the chatter— a second self interjecting estrogen has made that self silent leaving just me when I close my eyes the colorless dark patterns stay fixed in place no longer swirling
Being Her
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 dust has more identity somehow the wind
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
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
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
Being Her
when you ask me to share my journey the discovery of myself what is your motive? underneath are you mentally gatekeeping? asking is she a SHE? so I may verify what details should I know about your conception?
Being Her
every woman is unique so I don’t mind you knowing I’m transgender there’s only one critic whose gaze cuts deep she is brutal she is kind she is Satan she is Christ when she says I don’t pass I wither beneath her scorn when she says