So I picked up blogging again by promising myself to write a poem every day for 22 days, each poem as large and radiant as a whole year of my life, because although I am anything but a poet (I do not have the perfectionism and am too literal and not very wise), sometimes writing poems allows me to say shit without fully explaining myself. And fully explaining myself has felt too much these past few months of 9-5 and being an adult and…
(How I spend too much of my time. In the fluorescent aisles. Wondering whether I can possibly eat this huge amount of cilantro, and what the give of the avocado skin can tell me about the vegetable — fruit? I think is avocado a fruit? — inside. A ripe avocado and a rotten avocado feel different. I’ve squeezed so many avocados in the past few months.)
This is how my time is spent. Anyway it’s day three of my promise to myself to write a poem a day, and already I’ve skipped a day. But that’s okay. I’ve gone years of my young life without living poetry I suppose.
Is that a girl?
He asked his friend.
Thinking I couldn’t hear.
Figuring I was far away.
I look good, though. Light purple button
down hair good favorite shorts strong
Heart which is to say when I look at myself
I see myself which is to say
I was feelin myself.
is that a girl?
like my gender is something
to be determined by someone else
like gender ambiguity is something
to be cleared up by strangers
like gender ambiguity warrants an undressing
like sex & gender are the same
like he had to know where to put me.
just so you know I didn’t want you to know.
and just so you know all humans want to be seen
as human first.
just so you know beauty is a separate thing
from looking like “a girl” and just so you know
i’d rather be amused than hurt by unknowing
and a belief in gender’s straightforwardness
but i can’t, it hurts, and it’s that
transwomen, you asshole.
it’s that cismen kill transwomen
for their ambiguity there is violence behind his
is that a girl?