A Love Letter to All Trannies Ever

I love you who look like cis men

who look like cis women, you blessed shits

who look like ouppy, collared, raw doggin’ the universe

who refuse to wear an aspect the masses can grasp

I love you who see womanhood as a buffet

who see womanhood as a bullet, sapphic and lovely

who see womanhood is just performance and go off script

who see that life is constant transition and choose your own course

I love you who make art for us, like a greasy nightclub mirror

who make ends meet from noxious paradox desire

who make no assumptions that certain parts of us are taboo and shameful

who talk of sisters fucking mothers on meth knowing we dolls won’t bat an eyelash

I love you who want to hide inside of sissy cages

who want to be cisgender, and dream of being normal

who want to be with men, and dream of being safe

who never look at what you want because the world squeezes too tight

I love you who die young, die violently, die to escape

who die just to have the knife twisted, deadnamed and denied at your funerals

who die and are cast in the molds of symbols for one crusade or the other

who refuse to die dishonestly and take the risk to really live

I love you who take your bodies in your hands as clay

who take DIY E needles, boof prog, chop off balls, install esoteric alternates

who take as sovereign truth no sex, gender, genitalia

who don’t take shit from cowards, with their jackboot stars and signage

I love to sprout tits like springtime buds

drawing stares to my hairy belly

and hot pink worn with pride

having a face with built-in blackout curtains

I love spurning chasers to love tdykes who love tdykes

sharing the unspoken kinship of the sacred freak

I love hucking girlhood like a kettle from inside our big glass house

I love being able to believe

I love being a poet

I love being a slut

I love being a flirt

I love being a maybe future mother

I love being one of all of you and

as much as they stamp down on our throats and

call us out and seal us up we are sisters

and I love us all

more than any poem can ever say 

 

 

Subjected

She twists through corridors
quivering fingers fumble, oil-oozing tubes dangle
from her veins. She heaves,
slumps against clean steel. Sedatives fading.

Voice clutching. Scream rolls free
They will find her again. Straps dig into skin
syringes reinsert, purpling flesh
the lancing and the sawing resume

samples into vials, inserting
glinting guesswork substitutes, synthetic bone, valves click like
stilettos on glass. Wirebound knuckles 
stopped by sick stability from finding the traitors inside.

She has seen the brains, the lungs, the racks
on racks on racks of arteries, split lengthwise, rethreaded, recalibrated
waiting
for refurbishment, reattachment or perhaps discarded, impure, or saved

for future study 

He/Said She/Said Tenant Disputes

He approached while I lugged my stuff upstairs
He told me how many bodies he could stack in his trunk
He gave me a fake card, said he worked for the landlords.
I fell through the disintegrating staircase

He discharged aughts pop through the floor and walls
He cursed me out, enumerated threats; eviction, destruction
He nailed one of my tires, stabbed one when it didn't stop me.
I waited up for hours for the cops

He mounted cameras on every corner of the building he could access
He fed the other tenants rehearsed lies to keep them where he wanted them
He deployed traffic cones to the driveway, posted signs with orders to keep doors shut.
I called a lawyer for help

He said I deserved it because I wore skirts and didn't seem enough ashamed
He said he was "from the eighties" (born in '86); you couldn't blame him for not knowing better
He said he couldn't be politically incorrect - he's gay, he's a minority, he's oppressed, how dare you!
I left: broom clean

Foulmouthed

The coprolalic chokes on a psychic pseudobezoar,
subvocal obscenities burbling up until a
"kike" or "fag" or "cunt" breaches the meniscus of propriety.
Effluent waves of puerile proclamations,

frothing his hate up to a sewage tsunami.
He masticates each masturbatory outcry,
rancid words unminced; spat-out speech soils interlocutors,
who balk at each barked slur from this rude pariah.

Despair as he despoils the silence,
self-quarantined by feculent tongue, upsetting
the illusion that he is above the bullshit.