Costume

when I was young

I loved to go out at night

I could put on my costume

and know

know that it would protect me

the worst thing was inside me

so nothing in the dark could harm me

the thing inside me

killing me slowly

killing me for wearing that costume

every day

and then one day

I stopped

I stopped wearing the costume

and the thing inside was gone

but suddenly 

that thing was inside everyone else

now it wanted to kill me

kill me for not wearing that costume

I remember the very first time

when I left the house

wearing a dress

and the thing called from other mouths

“faggot”

“tranny”

it lashed out with a fist and a boot in my rib

so those are my choices

let the thing kill me from within

for wearing a costume

or let the thing kill me from outside

for not wearing a costume

tonight I put on the costume again

wiped off my makeup
wiped off my nail varnish

took off my pretty purple shirt

and put on big boy pants

big boy walk

big boy talk

I guess tonight I'm just better

at keeping the devil I know at bay

does that make me a bad transgender person?
does that make me a coward?

I don’t know...

but I got home alive.

-o0o-

Well, I guess that's it then?

To my best friend:

You loved me till the day I came out.

The second I came out.

Then our friendship fell apart. 

For the following two years I tried.

I tried to invite you in.

I told you my pronouns.

You never used them.

You never even tried.

I asked you to go clothes shopping with me.

You said no.

You misgendered me.

You made fun of me.

For two years I put up with it.

I fought for us.

I hoped we could 'fix' our relationship.

But we had different ideas of what was broken.

I wrote thousands of words about being trans.

You didn't even try to read them.

I spoke thousands of words about being trans.

You didn't even try to hear me.

You bought into TERF bullshit.

And when I called out the TERF bullshit:

You said that I made *you* feel bad.

You said that I only see *you* as cis.

And you said *you* didn't want to be my friend anymore.

Well, I guess that's it then?

Goodbye.

-o0o-

Table

[For all the trans friends I'm surrounded by.]

Build longer,

build stronger,

my table grows.

Pass the salt, pass the bread,

scooch up.

Leave a spot for the dead,

spill a drop for the missing,

save a dish for the late,

on a welcoming plate.

My family grows.

A forest of hands,

to warm, to feed,

to heal, to comfort,

to meet the need.

How many of you there are,

that my table stretches so far.

-o0o-

The Queer

We are the strange,
the beautiful,
the queer, twisted like hempen rope.
Having seen the end of every hope,
and yet still here.
Still here through everything,
we beautiful few,
carrying our dead friends in our hearts,
carrying our duty on our backs,
and the sins of abusive fathers on our skin.
Condemned for our queer,
and yet saved by it.
Salve Regina to our queer.
Long may it live.
Long may we live,
The Beautiful.

-o0o-

Nothing Left

When I should give my all, and breathe my fire,

ripping limb from limb, bone from hip,

and herald the end like a demonic choir,

such that they cry from their sinking ship;

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

But there is nothing left of me, my dear.

-o0o-

Craft

For audio please visit HERE on Soundcloud.

We learnt the art of potions,

from the great schoolmistresses of the South,

their hair like thistledown,

a tongue like a bullwhip in an open mouth.

They taught anyone their craft,

free of charge,

if you had a talent for magic,

and a will to learn.

They taught us the right way:

to stir a pot,

to wipe a child’s snot,

to make a man leave or stay,

to cut a foetus away.

Of course the men came to burn us,

but they didn’t recognise us,

being so suspicious of their own daughters,

that many a child was murdered.

Unmarked graves,

that bore the sins of the fathers,

instead of names and dates.

Eventually we became the new teachers,

and under our tutelage,

the young ones learnt to fight back,

against the stupidity of the old men,

who held laws like babies,

and propped up their houses with the corpses of children.

We taught the young ones the right way:

to stir a pot,

to wipe a child’s snot,

to make a man leave or stay,

to cut a foetus away.

Soon our books filled every shelf,

our songs every heart.

So much so that even the old man in the pub,

hums our tunes over his beer,

while his children practice their queer,

and hone their craft,

and brew wild ideas into living potions,

that teach minds to fly,

with the queerest of notions.

-o0o-

A Fairy Tale

Once upon a time:
the fairy queen sat,
upon her mushroom throne,
that grew out of the naked stone.
While she sat, eating flowers,
out of the skull of an oathbreaker.
Around her neck.
three stars were strung,
humming their radiant tune,
and shimmering as they hung.
They were named:
Alde
Misna
Ophel
And the day of the festival came,
at the doors of her kingdom,
where the humans gather,
giving their firstborn to the gods.
so their second born would be strong,
so they sang in their song.
They circled a rock,
upon which the tiny fruit would be crushed,
like grapes for the gods,
and the ghastly wine,
that stained both hands and the ground,
and made the Earth shiver at the sound.
So appalled by their cruelty,
the fairy queen,
unseelied herself,
snuffed her three suns,
snuck into the crushing stone,
and ate the little unfortunate ones,
as soon as they were thrown.
And the people panicked.
“Our children!” they cried.
“They have been stolen!”
And the people ran to their gods,
wailing,
screaming,
slashing at their skin;
praying to be avenged.
But the gods were long since dead.
And so in the years to come,
strange new folk would come out at night,
Alde from the ground,
making a mournful sound -
singing a song like moan,
that rotted flesh and snapped bone.
Misna from the very stone,
crawling on their bellies, prone,
with hands that catch,
and teeth that snatch.
Ophel from the air,
wisp-like, neither here nor there,
silent as the night,
and deadlier by far.
These children spirits came like armies,
by their hundreds,
night after night,
to steal the firstborn of the humans,
as soon as they were born,
to be raised as fae,
by elf they were amended,
by sprite they were bended,
by queen queered and splendid,
So the race of humans was ended,
and not a single tear was shed.

-o0o-

Jars

in the beginning

the stuff of souls

was kept in large jars

thousands upon thousands

stacked up in lines

and a few people

who drank from the jars

had the same soul stuff

shared between them

in the end 

they will be poured back

into the old jars

hand in hand

-o0o-