Precious Rare

there is beauty out there

precious, rare

jewels in the earth

difficult to gain

that hidden vein

of endless worth

crushed, milled,

boiled, distilled

to make a single hope

mined from dismal seams

the gems of dreams

to help us cope

-o0o-

Beating Giving Up

when 

giving 

up 

is 

at 

the 

top 

of 

the 

list

turn 

the 

list 

upside 

down

and 

start 

writing

and 

keep 

writing

and 

put 

as 

many 

words

in

between

you

and

giving

up

as

possible

-o0o-

Friendship

people badmouth other people to me

people who are supposed to be friends

I wonder if they speak the same way about me

and I know I can be difficult to like
by comparison they should say far worse things about me
and what does that say about our friendship?

-o0o-

Eat and be Merry

come and eat, friends

you soaked in the blood of your peers

you bruised at the hands of your keepers

sit and eat, feast at my table

let go of your daily fears

for a moment, just for a while

allow yourself this time

and join me for tea

a safe spot with you and me

my friends, for now

while times are calm

and friendship heals our constant qualm

eat, be merry, love one each other

it's nothing much in colder climes

when smiles are all the sutures we have

and the only pain killers I have are words and rhymes

I only have kisses for your bruises

and food for a heart sorrowed

what we gain now, tomorrow loses

and all we own is borrowed

-o0o-

Repurposed

some folk keep their demons in the cupboards

    some under the stairs

    under the bed locked up in pairs

some folk keep their demons in their pocket

    others far, far away

    some keep their demons locked up

    hoping to keep them at bay

I keep my demons ground fine

    to add sparkle to my eye shadow

    a shimmer to my waterline

        their blood a paste to moisturize

    and make my skin oh – so – fine

conditioning my hair with demon bile

    a jar in the fridge for nail polish
no need to abolish

    the sinful little fuckers

if they come for me

    I’ll eat them up

        munch and bite

            demon bone to keep the teeth white

-o0o-

This poem was inspired by this picture posted by a friend on Facebook:

Bleeding Heart

you'll forgive me if I stutter

when I speak of things that matter

I'm sorry but I'm not that cold

when I speak the tales that should be told

I don't have that luxury to freeze

switch myself off with flippant ease

these things that hurt me so

I can't just let them go

I am not made of such distant stuff

or set in stone all cruel and rough

dispassion is not how I'm built

when innocent blood is spilt

so you'll forgive me if I cry

when I see innocent people die

-o0o-

Storm

lighting kissed the power grid

and every object plugged in was

overwhelmed

the entire neighbourhood blushed

for a moment

as the lights died for an hour

and light hid it's face in shame

-o0o-

Gaytopia

thin pinkwashed veneer

around a well oiled machine

a punching press for

perfect

muscular

cisgender

white

Ken dolls

proudly rainbow

while the brown queer trans girl bleeds

a thin coat

to weather this one storm

this one time it won't last

and even your little gaytopia will fail

because having bought into that

the very system that hates you

you've set the stage for your own undoing

you've bought yourselves mansions

with borrowed currency

covered in the blood of we you claim to represent

and now the money is spent

where are you?

tucked away behind champaign and wedding cake

isn't it great?

it got better did it?

funny

we were promised that too

-o0o-

Old Creature

it's not merely enough
for me to say I'm afraid
of the sickness inside me
the uphill parade
the doubt, the self loathing
and hoping I can trade
one more day, one more day
so I can buy the dreams I made
so long ago, when they were cheap
and bills were automatically paid
and this sickness that crawls
ties me down to that spot
arms crossed, legs splayed
a puppet to the cinema
projected on my psyche and played
over and over
till I start to fade

old creature, old creature
that lives in my gut
tell me the secret
to escape this rut

"spirit, old spirit"
it answers
with as always
tightining the reigns
"kill me
or kill yourself"

I guess I have a battle on my hands

-o0o-

Having Joined the Liberal Club

it's simply not enough to say

you're on my side

and watch passively

as someone hurls bigotry at me

liberalism isn't something that you are

you don't join the liberal club

and get a badge

and now you are liberal

and that's that

no

liberalism is something that you do

and if you don't do it

you're not a liberal

if you don't fight for marginalized people

you're not a liberal

you're just a spectator

a part of the status quo

-o0o-

Survivor's Poetry

poetry has become the stuff of survival

protest in prose

write a poem

call it food

and eat it word for word

to nourish the belly

for the long road

write a poem

call it anger

a blade to cut through bullshit

in abusive times

I write the road ahead

flatten it

hills knocked flat

ditches filled up

I write the road behind

paved with memory

and myself

stretched

a long story

warping

weaving

waving into the future

a handrail of words to cling to

a guide in the dark

a survival manual for the traveler

-o0o-

Lumen

what do mortals do

when the sun and moon no longer talk

when the stars have all

turned their backs on one another

and the world is dark now

when the great lights

have all but snuffed out their shining

and the mortals who have none

must do without

because the lights are throwing a tantrum

and do the lights then

return

and expect gratitude from the mortals

?

-o0o-

Forced You?

forced you?

to date me?

made you love me?

did I?

it didn't bother me

till I heard a friend say it too

then it bothered me for days

I forced you?

to commit to a relationship?

when I asked you daily

if this is what you wanted

when I told you

that you had a way out

daily

when you took from me

when you took sex

when you took companionship

when you took trust

when you needed a shoulder to cry on

and made me feel ashamed
you'd rather fuck in a car
in the bushes
in the dark
because gods forbid we get discovered in a bed

because I'm not worth committing to?

because I'm good for a fuck

but fuck me if I'm good enough to love

you wanted all the merchandise

but none of the bills

you wanted all the glory

but none of the work

when I asked you to love me

when I asked you commit

and you agreed

and I still told you

there is a way out?

and I asked you daily

if this is what you wanted?

I let you fuck other men

because I was afraid

if I held on too tightly

you'd go away

and I really did love you

and I really did say

that you had a way out

and I asked you each time

if this is what you wanted?

but I forced you?

that's some

patriarchal

sexist

bullshit

I will not accept

you do not get to use me that way

you do not get to use me sexually

you do not get to use me emotionally

and then turn around

and complain that I forced you

to love me

if you ever did love me

believe it or not

I don't have that kind of power

men think this way

that they are owed sex for free

that there is no cost for what they do

that when they make lofty promises

that when they make commitments

that all of that will just blow away

I didn't do anything wrong

in asking you to commit

I didn't do anything wrong

in asking you to be true to me

I didn't do anything wrong

and I gave you the choice

and I do not possess the power

to make people commit against their will

no

I didn't "force" you to date me

I didn't "force" you to love me

you did that all on your own

you are not the wronged party

in the failure of our relationship
I owe you a lot of things
but I never forced you into anything

-o0o-

Biscuit's Got a Blade

Listen biscuit,

don't stab me and cry,

and tell me how non-violent you are.

Let those tears dry.

Wearing them like innocence.

Don't turn around now,

screaming at me,

as if I've done you wrong,

or limited your rights,

with your eyes drooped long,

like a veil to your own funeral,

as if I'm limiting your rights.

Don't pretend that I don't see you,

clearly,

for what you are,

with your knife covered in my blood.

And don't accuse me of robbery,

when I try to take your knife away,

You're not the victim here.

In the same way,

you don't get to say,

when you hop on your privilege,

and tell me it's okay,

when you use bigotry and hatred,

and turn around and say,

"But I'm not a bigot!"

It doesn't work that way.

-o0o-

Ember

the hand of burnt regret

clutches tight to the coal

that they'd never forget

and pursue their one goal

embers like anthracite

lit up their path

and promised to ignite

their anger and wrath

this is no mere gripe

that kindles their fury

as vendettas grow ripe

to play judge and jury

beware of the soul

with a coal in it's fist

they're never made whole

as they'll cease to exist

to let go of that rage

is a life doomed to fade

an unfinished page

a debt left unpaid

-o0o-

Aventurine

aventurine eyes

green little holes

through which he spies

the cat sat watching

still as a post

waiting for me to move

he tilted his head

as if he could upend me instead

shake the inaction from my limbs

where I sat eating, being eyed

by a green-eyed cat

one eye on me

one eye on the slivers of meat

"you know"

I said

"this is bad for cats

it's full of salt and junk"

the cat smiled and said
"that may be true

but as I hear it tell

it's bad for humans too"

-o0o-

Grace and the Lich

Grace brought her sword and silver shield

and wore her iron helm

she saught the barrow in the field

beneath the greying elm

she came to slay the lichly gloom

who stalks the fields at night

and break his bones within his tomb

to end the fearsome sprite

her guide is Morgan, whitebreast crow

who flies about her head

to look above and let her know

of things that lay ahead

she let Grace know as up the road

the lich was lurking there

standing in the bushy woad

with nettles in its hair

she struck the lich about its head

it crumbled into ash

so off she went to find its bed

where sleeps his boney stash

she found the elm and pushed aside

the door of moss and bark

and made her way down inside

into the gloomy dark

and two by two the bones were lain

as teeth cut to the bone

and so was our dear Grace then slain

lichkind don't dwell alone

-o0o-

Life and Death Drink Tea

old soul shiver

cold to the bone

stalking among the stones

alone

waiting for their friend

dreaming they might be there

in the end of the path

and they would embrace

at last

a heart to share

a cup to pour

friendship beyond compare

they that walk beyond the mist

between the rows

of fern frond and grey daisy bloom

knowing the end of the road

coming soon

where once again

to say goodbye

until tomorrow

when we meed again

when souls get shifted

here and there

like the cards on their tea tray

-o0o-

Small Heavens

[When you read this, if you can, try listening to Vangelis' "P.S." from his Voices album.
Link to Song]

when I was small

I dreamt up that ladders were magic

that if you climbed up

really fast

that they'd take you somewhere

else

some magic spells

would whisk me far away

silver bells and cockle shells?

right?

somewhere over the rainbow?

the places only the fairies know?

but no fairy came to take me hand-in-hand

and the world is far more dark 

than Yeats could ever understand

and magic and gods eventually died

so I made small heavens

here

in small places

left toadstool pebbles

and rhinestone wishes

in every corner of the house

and slung about my neck

like a broken dream reforged into living hope

it was my way to cope

a small rope to tether me here

lend me scope for the future

they're small things

mundane

they don't promise far off paradise

or salvation in the darkest of times

but they do lend small breath

so Puck was at once real

with secret kisses 

and silly notes tagged on his horns

as we lay in the leaves under an autumn tree

as he read

and therefore is Love said to be a child

because in choice he is so oft beguiled

and in small moments

in tiny places

hidden away in secret cases

locked up in far cupboards

I kept that shard of my heart

that still sees wonder

and amazes at small things

how flowers turn to the sun

how ladders become doors

how a child can disappear in the leaves

-o0o-

Selective Grief

set the clocks west

the new daylight savings

where red, white, and blue 

become the new whiteface

since lions draw more tears 

than the corpse of a black child

and Beirut is an abandoned building

a haunted house forgotten 

and left barren

while Paris is wined and dined

having turned our eyes to the bells that chimed

and set the clocks westward

ticking the eyes away from marginalized bodies

neocolonial violence in the name of selective grief

and the grief we've carefully chosen

is male, tick

is cisgender, tick

is white, tick

when clocks chime of gay marriage and wedding cake

another transgender corpse is a sponge

soaked with the soap of blood and forget

the body count of neglect

but we're 'celebrated' in retrospect

when we're dead

and our voices gone

and our flailing arms still

and our corpse-like-sponges 

are used to wash the streets

and sweep the detritus away

we hear the battle cry

"all lives matter"

really?

if that were true

we'd expect to see Facebook safety checks 

for every city

we'd expect a candle lit for
every transbody, tock

every brown body, tock

every woman's body, tock
but no
we're

mashed in the cogs of your eurocentric clocks

your patriarchal timepieces

but no

we've learned that "all lives" do not matter

Paris is a good example of that

mass outrage and grief for the European city

wailing and gnashing of teeth for white bodies

and today I watch a white man explain to a black woman

why Beirut deserved what happened to them

because brown bodies do not matter

and what a paltry sacrifice a brown body is

if the world is to be rid of Islam

so his Islamophobia teaches that

brown lives do not matter

and as time drags itself

up the hill of marginalized corpses

so a white man can pin his grief to the summit
where he can build his belltower

and sing to the chimes

of what a fucking victim he is

-o0o-

Azrael

Azrael drinks from the rivers

and she eats from the shores

that when it snows she shivers

and when she's tired she snores

Azrael cries for the living

and sings to the dead at night

she is utterly unforgiving

and her rage is a terrible sight

Azrael makes what's plain dynamic

where once was only death

she makes the stillness quick

and gives the lifeless breath

Azrael bears the departed

on wings as wide as sky

as the life she'd once imparted

she'd also doomed to die

-o0o-

Try Again

try as

I might

run the stretch

a length of effort

I might just

find the strength

again

another lap

around about

risk the world

my head up and out

hope that

maybe this time

it will matter

maybe this time

it will change

pretend to be

a real go-getter

in hopes things

turn out

for the better

-o0o-

Mirror on my Desk

the mirror on my desk lies

it cannot show me as I am

it just repeats

the same crap back at me

the shame, the hate, the inadequacy

I can't trust my mirror anymore

it speaks with the voice of the schoolyard bully

that calls my body into question

making me feel alien from my own skin

and constantly

constantly

making me feel like I want to cut my body away

because somewhere along the line

fat

became something I now suddenly am

and not something I have

-o0o-

Clever

I'm disenamoured with clever

clever without compassion and care

what is your clever?

hollow minstrel to screech out the day

the dull echo of cisgender voices

their chanting cacophony

tintinnabulation of smarts

how they have fallen entirely in love

with the sound of themselves

but there are those of us
we trans people
who have been served stealth as survival

but we’re branded as cheats and liars

because: haven’t-we-fooled-you-good?

the familiar drone of privileged men

clanging their way through us

drowning out our subtle cries

cishet boy scuffs his toe and tjanks so loudly

"but I, too, have known suffering"

while entire generations flood by

queer is flushed down the toilet 

along with used makeup wipes

the loud bells ring

where cishet becomes the gatekeeper

ding-ding-ding

the teacher

back to class

back to class

learn to be cishet

squash yourself back into binary

this is the preapproved syllabus

the school ubiquitous

like air we breathe

cisociety's pseudolung

hissing hissing hissing

pumping our lungs full of it

eradication and assimilation

in the absence of truth

the artificial flavour

this is clever

splained to us from klaxons

"you're a fraud"

"you're a fraud"

"you're a fraud"

"you're a fraud"

sunup to sundown

we don't even hear it anymore

and conveniently neither do they

so they can say

we're imagining things

hearing voices where none exist

the hatred we feel is merely
"truth"
or "science"

biology shoved down our throats

and why not?

Germaine Greer is a "well respected feminist"

TERF through-and-through

and afterall, who are we to disagree?
sung to the same tune of MRA's and atheist dudebros
jammed down our throats
as we're expected to sing their tune

when the same songs we sing to water our plants

are the songs we sing to bury our dead

driven into the ground

by steamdriven machines

heavy percussive clanks

imbedding us in easily consumable

-bite-

-sized-

-chunks-

so Logo TV has something to present

something nice and simple

sweet to the ears

an uncomplicated song

to sing in harmony with homonationalism

pinkwashed lyrics 

for pinkwashed consumers

who all have gay friends

so they totally know the words to sing

all in harmony with the noise

that drowns out the drowning

that screams over the subtle voice

the voice that asks for

her not him

he not she

they not her

ze not he

but clever sounds so much better

and your "free speech"

so much more important

than lives trampled under cisconsumerism

and a feminism that hates women

that likes to pretend that the non-binary doesn't exist

it's all very clever

isn't it?

a clever song

with clever words

and when all is said and done

how good is your clever when we are dead

or was that your tune all along?

-o0o-

Vampire

what little remorse our hero had

he'd lost for his old friend

Apollo was the very one

he'd chosen to offend

and so the sun was most unkind

to white teeth and nails clenched

to flesh plagued by that which

only the freshest blood quenched

and Hecate was angered by

Apollo's wicked curse

that she paid Chiron's leave

with coins from her own purse

so Death could stalk the halls

of bishop, priest, and nun

and gift them life who dared

to spite the visage of the sun

-o0o-

Cry to the Trees

cry to the trees

perhaps they're listening

when you're cut down

your blood christening

their roots, grow strong

and your life screams

a tale from their leaves

eating the sunbeams

the hungry trees

with carnivorous roots

tilling the corpses

blood-lapping shoots

perhaps they'll listen

if you do as they please

so if you must

cry to the trees

-o0o-

Honestly I have no idea what this one is about. I just wrote it and the words fell out of me like I was chewing with my mouth open.

[sic]-ness

plutocracy has made us [sic]

an error of debit and credit

scratched off human lives

whited out human cruelty

where money is the ultimate fix

and blood is just red in a ledger

the poor are typos

irrelevant mistakes

used up commodities

erased with dog-whistle politics

and that all-too-typical rationalization

that we're entitled to what we have

at the cost of others

-o0o-

Fees Must Fall

Please head over to Poetry Potion to read my poem regarding Fees Must Fall:

http://www.poetrypotion.com/fees-must-fall-by-charl-landsberg/

Regards
Charl

-o0o-

Picking Battles

I'm picking each battle today

in every word that I say

doling them out on small paper plates

each friend that I greet

each stranger I meet

carefully measuring the volumes and weights

I only have so much to spare

and a soul in need of repair

and how I'm practicing prudence with my supplies

I have far to go

and my rations are low

and I don't have much time for your hatred and lies

-o0o-

Admin

Well, it seems as though Blogger now hates all forms of social media. None of their in-house apps work and adding code to the HTML is like pulling teeth. I'd hate to move this blog, I'm approaching 10k views and I've always used Blogger.

I'm tired. I'll sort this out another day.

Love and Cookies
Charl

-o0o-

A Sonnet for the Intruder

she taps her feet on two’s and four’s

fucking up my wooden floors

rap-tap-tap comes Dance again

up and down across my room

pulling legs, my bones atwist

prod me till I get the gist

beat my aching heart again

a tender drum in high volume

slap me, wake me, bend me, break me

music shot back through my veins

fix me, fend me, hurt me, mend me

saddle me and flick the reins

she first sings sweet as sound permits

but when she goes I’m blown to bits

-o0o-

Second-Hand

well

guess it was about time it happened

just

wish it didn't leave me so flattened

stupid I know

but here we are

and another friendship gone

because

well

they don't like who I am

nothing that I did

they just ran away and hid

slid away all nice and quiet

because they don't

"agree with my lifestyle"

and I have to hear about this

second-hand

that's okay

been here before

I'm not knocking on death's door

so sweep the floor

dust my coat

move along

new day, new shirt

strangely it doesn't hurt

not as much as it did

the times and times before

a heart grows cold

and numb to the sore

-o0o-

Don't Dare be Woman

even among queer folk, it is taught

don’t you dare be woman

don’t be femme, she, or soft

they tell you it’s poison

gay guys are told it’s wrong

to effectively unman

kink wrist, and partake

in any feminine action

gay women are told they’re sluts

if they betray any feminine notion

but lesbians are fucked either way

for the crime of actually being women

trans folk are branded cheats

accused of wanting attention

for being frauds and fiends

for cheating the system

naturally the crime is woman

the sin in every religion

embodied in every direction

the worst of every decision

they tell you it’s wrong

on Facebook on Grindr in person

no pansies, no poofs, no femmes

as if that’s the worst that could happen

in patriarchy repackaged

this queer assimilation

is all about fitting in

(and hopefully Caucasian)

because girl is imperfect

and woman is broken

and boy is becoming

and man is salvation

it’s strange how queer folk

fight so hard to be human

but turn around and teach

don’t you dare be woman

-o0o-

Mister Redd

Mister Redd, 

had a very large head,

and thought of his dear lovely wife.

Oh lovely she'd been, 

the best ever seen,

till he'd gone and ended her life.

-o0o-

Trans-Pride (well at least I am proud)

so I walk about with
     long hair
     eyeliner
     nailpolish
          I look good

and still women
     women friends of mine
     think it's hilarious
          how people call me ma'am sometimes
          even when I'm out of "costume"
     laugh at me
          oh how silly I am
          oh how silly the stranger is
          to mistake me for a woman
               how utterly inconceivable

as if this
     this
     is the worst thing that could possibly happen to me

as if I should melt at the mention of being mistaken for woman
     as if woman is the most shameful thing I can be

I mean this coming from women,
     women who call themselves feminists
          I think you need to rethink your feminism
     if woman is something that you automatically associate with shame

because you've bought hook, line, and sinker into the myth
     the patriarchal myth that male is something to strive for
          and woman is something you should avoid at all costs
     the myth that I have somehow failed to live up to that
          the myth that I have to pick between the two
     man or woman
          as if those are my only options

and the myth that being mistaken for woman
     is the mistake that really hurts
when my friends
     the people who care and love me
          are the ones mistaking me for what I'm not

-o0o-

Appropriation

colour, a commodity 

packaged in beads and thread

strip the black children naked 

leave brown kids for dead

eat up their culture 

sweep up their ash

nothing gets in the way 

of the white folks' cash

-o0o-

Abelief

no gods or devils here, ma'am

no spells or powers, sir

just this

small-town reality's kiss

spilled blood and coffee

pain and tears

both

crystal on my eyes

no justice but what we make

no meaning but what we take

no purpose but that we break

we made this world in our image

cruel and hateful

like the gods we dreamt up

I cannot tell you what I believe

because I don't believe in anything

but I can tell you what I don't believe

and much of it comes from there

that place

the pit of human hatred

that teaches us that

men over women

white people over people of colour

breeders over queers

cis over trans

and funny how all your books

all your gods

all your dogma starts there too

cruel and vindictive

dogs requiring the collars of modernity

no wonder god and dog are the same words

rabid monsters untamed and wild

ripping the throats out of the innocent

or puppies trained to piss outdoors

where we don't have to worry about it

and for what it's worth

I love my dogs more than your gods

they've actually given me love

they were there for me when I bled

they were there for me when I was beaten

they were there for me when I cried

and your gods supplied the blows and cuts

fortified the hands of the men who hurt me

with scripture and pulpit

so, no

I don't believe

no gods or devils here, ma'am

we're all sold out

-o0o-

Panic Attack

little breath

short and sweet

let me up onto my feet

heartbeat race

tear flows

panic knocks, panic knows

dirty feet on

my clean floor

smash the plates, slam the doors

bitter guest who

pins me down

deeper till I start to drown

clothes wet from

the panicked sweat

worst fiend I had ever met

petrified by

fear again

again, again, again, again,

waves of panic

over me

coat my eyes that I can't see

dead

cold in space

nothing in this time and place

panic kiss me on my face

nothing left, without a trace

awaken in the morning

shower

cold water

rinse the sweat off

tell myself to stop being so silly

get on with it

-o0o-

Not Enough

I’m not enough
just a small cup
take just one sip
you’ve drunk me up

my heart can only break so much
often it's broken for me
often broken for someone else
but I can only break so much, you see

I’m not a lot
just one cup
just one long moment
and I’m used up

-o0o-

Apologies, Errors, and Weird Things I Do Online

Apologies to my usual readers. As it turns out, I have totally messed up the style of this website due to my teaching code to myself... so I've reverted it back to one of the Blogger templates. I guess I'll just leave it for the moment. I'm way too tired to deal with this right now.

So for the meantime: here's a picture of a baby llama.

Love
Charl

-o0o-

I-They

(Trigger Warning: child abuse and molestation, gender dysphoria)

when I was young I wanted toys
     toys meant for girls
     I didn't understand what that meant
     but I was taught that this was bad
I wanted dolls and jewellery

it’s a strange thing to be conditioned
     to be something you’re not
     taught with hushed tones
“your father won’t allow that”

daddy
     this mythical creature
     that came into my life when I was three years old
     a creature that stole all my mother's power
     and breathed that power into hatred over us

fear in the eyes of women
     afraid
          afraid of what might happen to us
if daddy found out
     that his boy was a fag
     what daddy might do to them
     what daddy might do to me
so I’d steal toys and hide them
     I hid them well
     I learnt an awesome trick
     you teach daddy about a secret place
     a secret place nobody is allowed to look
     and in that place I put junk
     maybe a birthday card or two
     maybe something sentimental
           make sure it's a mess

but the real treasure you hide somewhere else
     so when daddy discovers your secret place
     he finds junk, a card, ... and a mess
     you get in trouble
          you're never not in trouble
but it's good
     because you know this trouble is nothing
          nothing
          nothing compared to the trouble you’ll get into
          if he found the real stash

I taught myself to love toys
     toys that are somehow connected to the penis
     I was never told why that is
     I was just told that somehow penis meant...

building blocks
     action figures
          I taught myself to love that

I'm good at pretending
     I even fooled myself
          for years
          as toys replaced other things

boys should be tough
     boys should fight
          boys shouldn't cry

I cried
     I was punished
          I was beaten
     I had to play games in my underwear
          I had to be naked in front of him
               this will make me a ‘real’ man
                    groomed to be a groom

I’d take secret knitting lessons from my grandmother
     I’d hide my needles and my wool
          for years
               to this day I still want to hide it all away
          afraid I might get punished
or I might get poked with a knitting needle
     again in my underwear
          spanked with his belt
naked this time as my body changed
     as I became this man-thing everyone imagined
          the belt became a broom
               as his cock grew hard

and the beatings got harder
     till I couldn't walk sometimes
     or he’d walk up to me and punch me
     for no reason
man up

worst advice he could have given me
     because whatever manning up meant
     it added up to cutting him down
     cutting through him like wrapping paper on presents
peeling him off of me
     he’s gone now

i’m still unwrapping myself
     inside out
          starting with the outer most layers
     the things boys aren't supposed to like
teaching myself it’s okay
     going deeper
     unpacking the boy I never was
     undressing the idea of boy
putting it where I left daddy

                it’s mostly raw and naked now
           nothing to cover me
     no words to explain what’s left

I tell people I'm transgender
     and that I'm not who they think I am
           they don’t understand

I tell people I'm non-binary
     and they deliberately don't understand
          they don't want to

I say that I don't really have a point where I knew
     I don't have some magical date
          I can't say I always knew
     gay and trans didn't come to me one day
          they weren't convenient
          I wasn't "born this way"
          that's someone else's story

I wasn't born into the wrong body
     my body was stolen from me before I had a say
     before I could speak

I was taught this way.
     made man by hate
     made straight by hate
     made cisgender by hate
     made binary by hate
     made Christian by hate

I wasn't born transgender.
     I was born something entirely free of all this crap
     transgender was what I became to shed being cisgender
          because what else is there?
     atheist is what I became to escape Christianity
          because that god didn't love me
     non-binary is what I became to tear of boy and man
          and I didn't pick up woman somewhere along the way
          she is as foreign to me as he is
     gay is what I became to get rid of imposed heterosexuality
          and I'm not even fucking gay
     pansexual is what I became because I can love you
          I can love the boy
          I can love the girl
               but they don't love me the same way

I tell my boyfriend I'm not a man
     so we’re not in a homosexual relationship
          he doesn't understand that

I stop calling myself he
     and I cry
          and I want to run back to the cupboard
     and wrap myself in that old wrapping paper
     cellotape over the seams to make myself respectable
          and attach another birthday card
    write "man" on the card
read: afraid
     it’s not safe here

I refer to myself as they
     and things seem okay
     I recognise myself for the first time

               I start shaving now
          as much as I can
          as much as my delicate skin will allow
     I know the person in the mirror
     each time I shave, I look like myself
     my friends say I'm looking more and more like my mom
and it makes my heart glow

-o0o-

Persist

I guess I've fallen in love with the break
zipped down my body and soul in zigged cracks
me broken and living for my own sake
held together with press stick and tacks
because that's all I can do when it's sore
body and soul a swollen bruise
and I guess I just keep expecting more
when everyone things I've got nothing to lose
so I guess I love this broken me
nothing special, nothing to show
exist to spite the peanut gallery
and withstand everything life may throw

-o0o-

Optimism-ish

blood runs thinner these days

more water than fat

dishwashing liquid and butter

both

run, and no substance

but sugar is sweet

sweet as it ever was

so don’t despair the failure of certain quality

since there is quality aplenty in other places

and when the tide pulls from one thing

it goes to another

-o0o-

Makeup

cottonball ceremony

unbecoming man

paint on, paint off

as hard as I can

eye lined, gloss nails

bringing matter back to gender

a worship of form

a god to render

ex nihilo fantasy

makeup so sweet a twist

a made up liturgy

from a staunch atheist

-o0o-

Myprodol

you're a bastard

you know that?

two kisses, three times a day
with every meal

and I can already feel that pull

that old allure of addiction

calling me in for another kiss

and another

and another

till all the pain will be gone

lips full of kisses

arms full of promises

beautiful, blooming, barbituate lover

that precipice you represent

and the promise I made to myself years ago

to keep lovers like you on a fucking short leash

I'm done with you for today
go back to your side of the bedside table
I'll be off with some water and anger for the pain in the mean time

I'll see you later for my breakfast kiss

-o0o-

sick

pain, my constant companion

today they've gotten a bit full of themselves

and asserted their presence a bit too aggressively

so I'm bedridden

come read to me, old friend

put yourself into that place where I forget you

if only for a minute

get your tendrils out of my stomach

and my back, and my lungs

if only for a second

so I can breathe again

-o0o-

the old shirt

"him"

again

the same word

the wrong pronoun

my own lips betraying me

I know why I do it

playing out the old narrative

constantly

trying to play a dead character

a man I killed in my head

the boy I was never meant to be

"him"

again

I said it of myself

and I know why

trying to hide behind "him" again

a fiction I invented to survive

because "them" is so 'pretentious'

"him"

again

I know why I do this

because it's a powerful narrative

isn't it?

speaking of "him"

so much more powerful

than to speak of "them"

because I am "them"

and I don't think they will listen to them

until I stop playing this hiding game

training my own lips

teaching them not to disown me

teaching them not to take part in self-hatred

teaching them not to dress me in "him"

teaching them not to make me be a dead boy

a dead gender

a bad, old t-shirt I used to wear to fit in

"him"

blue

snips and snails

puppy dog tails

all binned

so that I can be true to myself

because whether they see me as I am

the first step is to see myself as I am

"them"

-o0o-

Coastline

she stood by the coast

her feet on the grass

munching on toast

parking her ass

she's kicked with sand

by a fuck undeterred

she raises her hand

and flips him a bird

-o0o-

The Desperate Hero

the pull to save you is strong

that impulse that beckons me

to swoop in and drag you into my arms

and set you free

because I'm addicted to that

to play the hero's role

to save the lost and sad

regardless of the toll

when in truth I'm in need for once

I need someone to care

a kind soul to look at me

and see I'm really there

-o0o-

All Lives Matter?

You know, playing at semantics is always fun,
   when marginalized people are being killed en mass.
But Little Lord Privilege over here feels 'left out'.
   Boo hoo.
Did marginalized people speaking about their suffering upset you?
   Did people who are being slaughtered daily make you feel uncomfortable?
It would be so much easier if they just suffered in silence, wouldn't it?
   Then you wouldn't have to be reminded of how fucking lucky you are.
When marginalized people say they suffer,
   and you as a privileged person say, "I suffer too."
Do you know what that sounds like?
   You got all the cookies,
   and a starving person wants one cookie,
   and you scream, "I deserve a cookie too!"
   Do you know what you sound like?
Do you know what it's like to be queer in this day and age?
   Where the life expectancy of a transgender person is 40 years?
Do you know what it's like to be a queer person of colour?
   Where the life expectancy can be as low as 25 years?
When they say, "Our Lives Matter!"
   When they cry out because of the abuse they suffer.
And you waltz through declaring "All Lives Matter!"
   Well done.
Well done you selfish arsehole.
   Here. Let me clap for you... slowly.
I'm reminded of the cartoon of the fireman,
   watering a house next to a house on fire.
   "All Houses Matter."

Do me a favour.
   Instead of lecturing me about how "All Lives Matter"
   How about you take your entitled privileged ass,
   and go tell some racists, homophobes, transphobes, and misogynists,
   that all lives matter, EVEN OURS.

And stop pretending as if marginalized people are the ones being dishonest and divisive.

#BlackLivesMatter
#TransLivesMatter
#LGBTQIALivesMatter
#WomensLivesMatter

-o0o-

battery

I think my charger is broken

my psyche won't recharge

it's spent

like an age-worn battery

and I'm running on safe-mode

coffee doesn't help

a cold shower doesn't help

I try to sleep

like trying to fill up a tankless car

the petrol just spills onto the road

I'm running on empty

-o0o-

touch

your hand uninvited

touching me

inappropriately

constantly

and I've kept my cool

my anger masked

still you won't stop

even though I've asked

now I'm waiting

for your next intrusion

to bring your entitlement

to a stark conclusion.

-o0o-

pearl one, stitch two

pearl one, stitch two,

today is a long day,

pearl one stitch two,

stir the cup,

longer than usual,

pearl one, stitch two,

stir the cup,

have a bath,

i’m struggling,

pearl one, stitch two,

stir the cup,

have a bath,

make a sandwich,

watching the hours pass,

pearl one, stitch two,

stir the cup,

have a bath,

make a sandwich,

sit in the dark,

I can’t cope today,

pearl one, stitch two,

stir the cup,

have a bath,

make a sandwich,

sit in the dark,

turn up the music,

so I won’t,

pearl one, stitch two,

stir the cup,

have a bath,

make a sandwich,

sit in the dark,

turn up the music,

dance in the dark,

i’ll just sit here,

-o0o-

Erasure

Tune of the unjust;

the long song.

Drawn out to lash the weak,

and praise the strong.

Heavens, no!

What ever could go wrong?

When anger stirs,

in the maddening throng.

Sing for me then,

lashing with your fist.

Grab my hair, my throat,

my thighs, my wrist.

But you can't undo me,

no matter how you insist.

I am here, always,

and always I persist.

-o0o-

Calm Waters

you're playing a dangerous game

if you think I'm something you can tame

just because I've a broad, bright smile

and been so placid all the while

my patience undeniable

you think I'm soft and pliable

you prod and poke at every bruise

cutting short at temper's fuze

be warned small child

and have no doubt

I'll chew you up

and spit you out

-o0o-

Riot

if you are more concerned
with property destroyed
than lives lost to abuse:
then you are the problem

if riots irk you more
than things they represent
more than those children killed:
then you are the problem

if you spend more time on
vindicating whiteness
than challenging black death:
then you are the problem

if you spend more time on
defending your straightness
than challenging queer death:
then you are the problem

your personal comfort
is not worth more than lives
the lives killed by your kind:
since you are the problem

when you bought into that
you, holier than thou
a 'pure- hearted' bigot:
you became the problem

if you think that riots
are so unbecoming
but you don't dare ask why:
you're the fucking problem

you have no right calling
yourself a liberal
you are not progressive:
you're the fucking problem

you don't care about them
the people who suffer
the people who have died:
you're the fucking problem

-o0o-

Is my tea stolen?

is there a term for white taste?

like white gaze

but an appreciation for the taste of dark skin

my tea might be stolen, you see

the product of slavery

a colonial tell

a capitalist sell

and the taste that white people develop

for all things not white

except for brown lives, of course

they don't seem to matter when it comes to white consumption
the deadly, unjust appropriation of everything of colour
except the lives that made them

understand that my tea comes at a price

far grander than the corporate sale

a tale of trade

a rand for pound of tea

-o0o-

Forgotten Heroes (The Leading Ladies of Stonewall)

Stormé DeLarverie, the guardian of lesbians:

"It was a rebellion,

it was an uprising,

it was a civil rights disobedience —

it wasn’t no damn riot."

Marsha P. Johnson, the revolutionary heart for the homeless:

"I was no one,

nobody,

from Nowheresville

until I became a drag queen.

That's what made me in New York,

that's what made me in New Jersey,

that's what made me in the world."

Sylvia Rivera, the queen of charity and activism:

"Today, we have to fight back against the government. 

We have to fight them back. 

They’re cutting back Medicaid, 

cutting back on medicine for people with AIDS. 

They want to take away from women on welfare 

and put them into that little work program. 

They’re going to cut SSI. 

Now they’re taking away food stamps. 

These people who want the cuts – 

these people are making millions and millions and millions of dollars as CEOs. 

Why is the government going to take it away from us? 

What they’re doing is cutting us back. 

Why can’t we have a break?"

Miss Major Griffin-Gracy, the rouser for justice:

"Puppy's murder made me aware 

that we were not safe or untouchable 

and that if someone does touch us, 

no one gives a shit. 

We only have each other...

So I started looking out for myself … 

whenever we got into a car [we] would write down as much information as possible. 

We would try (to)...get a guy to walk outside the car so that everyone could see him, 

so we all knew who he was if she didn’t come back. 

That’s how it started. 

Since no one was going to do it for us, 

we had to do it for ourselves."

Brenda Howard, the mother of pride:

"Bi, Poly, Switch—I’m not greedy, I know what I want."

And the Children of the Revolution:

"We are the Stonewall girls

We wear our hair in curls

We don't wear underwear

We show our pubic hair."

-o0o-