To Charl with Love

I don't know if I ever posted this here before... sincerely too lazy to look right now:

To Charl with Love (written on this day 2017)

The March of the Nots

Woman

historically

have always been defined 

by what she is not.

a woman is *not* a man

but she is a wo-man

a woman is *not* a black person

but she "may" be black woman

a woman is *not* a jewish person

but she "may" be a jewish woman

a woman is *not* lesbian person

but she "may" be a lesbian woman

a woman is *not* transgender

but she "may" be a transgender woman

a woman is *not* asexual

but she "may" be an asexual woman

a woman is *not* nonbinary

but she "may" be a nonbinary woman

add womxn to the mix

experiencing multiple intersections

of identity and marginalizations

and alt-right man-children's brains break.

womanhood is always

filled to the brim with obstacles

the attainment of womanhood

has never been automatic

unless you're profoundly

white

cisgender

heterosexual

rich

healthy

able-bodied

and neurotypical

if a womxn tells you who she is

and the world rushes in

to tell her what she's not

she's probably exactly

who she says she is.

the second she claims

her femininity as empowering

her identity as explicit

her marginalisation as history

the world rushes in 

to tell her to stop being divisive.

the second she speaks

of the way she's been marginalised

the world rushes in

to tell her that "We don't need labels!"

the second she speaks

the world is back

telling her what she's not.

-o0o-

Gender Magic

there is no greater magic

than the spells I cast

using a razor

and cutting the man off of my face

a subtle spell that removes this boyhood

and rinses it down the drain

this invocation that
                   summons

conjures
evokes                  
from out of the dark: the interlopers

that embody me

so that I may know greater things even

more than the men and women

they who don't know

they who stand static on the binary

-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-

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-

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-

Cannibalized (An Old Poem Rewritten)

I rewrote this to more clearly reflect who I am. I wrote this originally trying to be cisgender, but I felt like this poem didn’t quite reflect who I am as well as I would like. So I fixed a few things.

Cannibalized (An Old Poem Rewritten)

there is little left of me
the rest was butchered by you
hidden behind the lines you drew
by the blue mountain's beach
where you broke off my hands
so justice couldn’t reach

and I can’t wipe my eyes
so your knife cannibalized my bones
and left nothing but lies
with my guts scattered among the stones
and my tears lubricated the pieces
made them slide down easy

and my mouth is stammering
with words marching - one / two
like you and your little soldier boys
how proud you must be, such toys
with your little guns and knives
and you fuck other men's wives

and I am left behind
just a chopped up faggot child
not worthy of love or care
pan- omni- bi- sexual, broken, wild and parted
the prime meat cut for your pleasure
the rest discarded

and you tied me down
like a dog and yelled at me
trying to fell my tree
by screaming at it
and you beat me and I bit
and you were so indignant

after all, why should the faggot bite you
you only did your worst for them
they should be grateful
and I did all I could to fight you
I'd be so terribly spiteful
the militant gay child

you taught the recipes well
and I learned
maybe not the lessons your taught
but I spurned your hunger
and I burned your books
and I ran away

and you saw my love for a black friend
and you threw your toys out of the cot
and you poured another soda and gin
so that all your little abuses may be forgot
but I remember still
and I bet you do too

and you do, you still do
everywhere I go I see it
the lines drawn by your knife
telling your story bit by bit
and you cry, "It's not true, not true."
your own protest defaming you

your uniform has faded a lot
and your lot is up
along with your time
spilled from your gin cup
along with my blood and pieces
mixed with your spit and grime

and I'm ready to be slaughtered
with rope and lace
clamped into one place
with my pace stuck
like I'm held down by glue
the remnants parts of you

when I stole my pieces back
they came back covered with dirt
the filth from you
splattered over my shirt and boots
years worth of accrue
eating into my roots

but I burned myself clean
baptized by fire
free of the dogmatic dream
the illusory liar
and my pieces found rest
and peace found the missing bits of me

and the smallest bits of me
did find their way home
and finally started to grow
some semblance of life
to be left alone
the last few inches of me

and your racist tongue is gone
and your teeth are out of my soul
the years have been long
since I last saw you
and you called
and I hung up on you

it felt so good
everyone thought I was in shock
you must have hurt me
but I was elated
such an arrogant cock I was
and I was happy

and I found my pieces
hiding here and there
behind another CD
behind another glass of water
one piece longing to be a son
the other longing to be a daughter

and one just wanting to be me
lost in a bitter world
fatherless from one father I flee
into an uncertain world
without your thoughts
without your plan

and I put myself together
fillet, Sirloin and Chops
gizzards, heart, the lot
all dancing to be amalgamated
thrown into the cooking pot
hoping that I be reanimated

-o0o-

Why I'm Grateful for Caitlyn

I'm grateful for Caitlyn
because she set your hatred on fire
so now I can see you
you up in smoke like burnt out pyre
pointed out as if by angel's choir
I can see you

Oh, but you can deadname
dishing out lies
advertising your bigotry
as if stabbing at the truth will make it anything less than
and you wallowing in your own bullshit
as if to douse the light
hide from our eyes
and all you've done is draw flies

Because of Caitlyn's light
I know now that I can't trust you
I know now that you're not my friend
you've stayed hidden all this time
complaining about how 'P.C.' you have to be
that you can only be yourself when nobody is looking
but transphobia is a free-for-all, is it?
hatred and bigotry of this kind something cheap to come by?
and you've appointed yourself gatekeeper

Well I see you now
and you're not fooling anybody with your doubletalk
your derailing
your deflecting

Caitlyn came along and lit you up
and I'm grateful for that
because it also showed me
how to get you out of my life
wipe your shit off my floor
and kick you out the door

-o0o-

Timmy

Hey there, you, ol' Timmy boy,
do you like the way I wear my hair?
I think that you're in love with me,
just by the way your eyes can stare.
You like the way I sway my hips,
sneaking a peak at my cotton underwear.
Think we'd make a silly game,
or maybe we're a frightful pair?
So kiss me if you want to, boy.
I'll kiss you like a crashing freight train.
I'll wash away your memories,
if you promise to wash away my pain.
So sit by me and sing along every chorus,
and every third refrain,
and blow your penny whistle,
till the neighbours all around complain.
So start your car, I'll hitch a ride,
or meet you on the other side.
Timmy's got a knack for pride,
and rainbows all along his well formed hyde.
So you like the way the wind blows,
right through my mottled hair?
With blow dried curls that catch the sun,
and blind you with their glare.
So cook a meal and I'll make two,
seasoned with my savoir-faire.
Hey there you, ol' Timmy boy,
take a chance on me if you dare.

-o0o-
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I am

he's an idiot
fearing that imaginary son
a son taking it up the ass
he's a blind idiot
underestimating the unseen
the invisible daughter
that fucks instead of being fucked

pay attention as your city falls
leveled by the roar of Amazons
as you lie resting
thinking that you are safe
there are no men on the horizon
and what threat is there
especially from the trans- hordes

-o0o-
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Whores and Bitches

“whores” / “bitches”
“all of them”
“bitches” / “whores”

his every word, another slice
cut into the skin of the people at the table
why don’t we date him?
why don’t we trust him?
he’s such a nice guy afterall
he preens in the jacket cut from our leather
we sit skinned and raw
as he lathers up more salt
oh, how we have wronged him
didn’t we know that we owe him?

“whores” / “bitches”
“all of them”
“bitches” / “whores”

I mean, never mind the systematic abuse
in which he openly revels
never mind the patriarchy which he embodies
actively embodies
never mind the little mythos he imagines
so he can sleep soundly at night
under his skin blanket
behind his skin blindfold
on his skin upholstered dais
of course he never did the skinning
or so he claims
slashing away at us

“whores” / “bitches”
“all of them”
“bitches” / “whores”

he still owns the leather
carved from still living corpses
and furthermore, he’s proud of it
such a manly man
reminding us that we’re fundamentally flawed
that if we don’t do as he says
if we don’t assume our roles as his objects

“whores” / “bitches”
“all of them”
“bitches” / “whores”

words I cannot unhear
the vaguest echo of his misogyny
each time he speaks
unforgettable
and the salt ever present in his acidic voice
ground into the soft flesh
a broken tooth biting on tinfoil
a petroleum stench to top a migraine
it’s all I feel around him now
our dear master
homogenizing all things unman
and splitting them like god on high
the sheep on his right
those objects obedient to him
and the goats on his left

“whores” / “bitches”
“all of them”
“bitches” / “whores”

-o0o-

Sexist Detractor

And then you, precisely you
Have to swoop in and woo
The conversation in defense
Of the thoroughly defended
Your concerned affectation
Martyrdom pretended
Stolen from victims of actual pain
With those tears you feign
When the privileged sex
Gets a persecution complex
And they cry and they moan
"Just leave us alone"
With your boots on our neck
And our heads on the floor
As if we hadn't heard
All of this shit before

-o0o-

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Wonder Worker

you should see her do it
fold up the earth
and jump from here to there
instantly
she's cunning that way
Ms. Lard
her nimble fingers
tracking along the pages
hungrily hunting for spells
her cleaver thaumaturgy
read aloud
like songs at night
each word as softly spoken
as a leaf brushing by rocks in a stream
and her friends would come
calling to her
"Taya! Taya!"
"Work your wonders!"
"Find my lost love!"
"Bring my money home!"
"Produce a cure for me!"
"Taya! Taya!"
and she would
because she knew the seventy third sign
she could speak the explicit names
she heard them in her sleep
when the goddess whispered in her ear
and she scratched the symbol
carving it into her tongue
making a shem of her flesh
using the sharpened rib bone of the Archangel Uriel
so when Ms. Lard spoke she made
she unmade
then neatly tucked the world under her arm
strolling away
until the next day
when her friends would come calling

-o0o-
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Bonfire of the Families

The old don:
He is perfect after all?
His flaws, manifest on his wife
Scrubbing them from her skin
Picking his hatred off his children
Chewing them like cured beef
Fucking mongrels that they are
Spat out onto the pyres
What good are they?
Their soot and their mother’s fatless corpse
Polish to his boots

But then he snaps his fingers
All has to be suddenly well
He is suddenly the perfect man
She is suddenly the perfect wife
-the children, sparkly toothy things
smiling with hollow eyes
There is much to prepare
The guests can’t see the house like this
The don’s wife has to clean up quickly
Wipe the blood from her face
Powders over the bruises
Hush the children up
The priests are coming
A feast has to be prepared
Creases ironed
The don dresses in his best
His wife sweeps herself under the carpet
You can hardly see the children’s toes
Where they stick out under the drapes
The house is clean
The family smiles
Their lines rehearsed
The court is in session

The elite have arrived
The don’s wife a ghost of hospitality
All done
All prepared
Ready
Presentable
Used up and empty

Silver the children starved for
Bone porcelain made from the wife
her teeth, her skull
The food carved from their smiling carcasses
As they stand there
The charade heaped on them
The don elated
Drunk and sloshing about
Preening over his perfect world
Gloating over his perfect family
Don't they smile broadly?
Aren't they articulate?
Aren't they witty?

The priests are happy
Such a lovely evening
What a traditional family
Who would want to ruin this?

-o0o-

One of More

I am not one of two
...like you
like you
here and there
weighed up and dished out
I'm waste
unfit for the banquet as guest and meal
my blood on the wall
מנא, מנא, תקל, ופרסין (mene mene tekel upharsin)
numbered, weighed, and apportioned
and impressionable boys and girls
to be served at the table of two
for the scrutiny of those
who play their 'god given' roles

I am not third sex or gender
I am not third in some race to the top
by comparison who is first and who is second?
ah!
but men are first
...you say
of course you'd think like that

I am not this or that
playing at male
as if I could sew an oversized cock
to the outside of my pants
to make the guys feel comfortable
and to thrill the girls

I am not that or this

I'm not that thing

as if I'm trying at woman
when who I am is as other to women
as I am to men
because like women, I am also failed
...you say
the un-man thing
...as you say

rather a woman than un-man?
...you ask
I couldn't answer that

I'm just sculking at the banquet
for any food to eat
scraps of female
scraps of male
scraps of the offal
a guest in my own halls
servant at a table hewn
from the bones of my friends
their un-man carcasses
their un-woman carcasses
not good enough
not good enough for the dualist feeders
not even good enough for the dogs at your feet

we are carved up and slaughtered
crucified under your table
a surface of un-person bone
filigreed with un-human veins
upholstered in un-male and un-female skin
to hold up your junk food

junk food
adjunct food
the two-stuff
the di-sexual
as if what you are can be described
in opposition to just one thing
and if I am not the one of those two
then I must be the other of those two
well at least I am not man
and that gives you comfort
...right?

how you celebrate your food
where two spirits are prayed to
to bless the food
to feed the men
...you pray
make you more man
to feed the women
...you pray
to keep them, at least, un-manly

maybe, I have both spirits?
no, they're other than me
I'm one of three
one of more
one of a multitude
but not of two
not one of you

I know it's difficult
you don't get it
because day after day
you happily eat of the two-food
you're comfortable with that
that is why I disrespect you so much

Yes!
Sir!
Madam!
Would you like another slice?
No, I don't have any male or female today.
I'm out of stock.

-o0o-

"Real Man," you say?

your target, not mine
you'll always miss
I don't even compete
I'm not a man

-o0o-
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Transgender

I wanted to be that thing
To carry the sting
Be a man
Virile and strong
All my life I was told
That I had to want it
Be bold
I had to be it
Not to was wrong
I had to be strong

But I can't be something I'm not
I can't pretend at that thing
I can't pretend to curb my body
Embody costumes for clothes
Folding my mannerisms
Acting out a new speech
Talking a false sex
Flex into some box

So, when you say it
"Man"
Damn
I'm sorry
But that's not me
I just don't fit
I'm not that shit
I'm just not it

-o0o-
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At the Gates

hello gatekeeper

may I pass into my own country?

or have your standards become too strict?

am I too fat, too ugly, too unmanly to go safely?

am I too poor to buy your pass?

could I bribe my way in somehow?

become a plus-one to the gatekeepers?

a guest in my own home... my own bed?

the suggestion is subtle, delivered with smiles

that I don't belong here in my own plazas

small coded messages written in shame

over makeup and nail varnish

as if I'm the one wearing a mask

pretending at gender

while you desperately clasp at the keys

to the doors of man and woman and other

-o0o-

D'Souza

So this manly man
     with a fake smile
Preaches his plans at me
     over the table at dinner
Damns me to hell,
     which is all very well
     for as you all know quite well
     I'm a horrible sinner

He hands me his thoughts
     his old is'es and his aught'ses
Like a toddler assaulting at my heels
     with his sleeves full of snot
"A real man," he said
     "wants a woman in bed"
     but I bed men instead
     so "a real man" I'm not

"Since, Jesus (Don't you know)"
     "made everything so"
"And planned where stuff must go"
      "(if you know what I mean)"
Making a circle with his left hand
     and right takes his middle finger
     demonstrating sex
     with gestures obscene

But Preacher, I said
     head tilted, eyebrow raised
You hardly assume
     such authority to preach
Given the state of your church
     you actually perch
     at the top of a quagmire
     that your god could not reach

Just think of the wars
     that your sermon employs
Not to mention the kids
     that your priesthood 'enjoys'
And the consequent lives
     that your lifestyle destroys
     and the guilty are sheltered
     in endless convoys

Your pope and your bishops
     belong in a cell
Your child raping priests
     should be hung from a tree
Given the scope of
     your wars and your crimes
     I fail to see how you
     could dare to judge me

And then there is you
     with your wife and also
Another woman who
     wears another man's ring
Your married and yet
     you go out and get
     another man's wife
     a peculiar thing

So I'm honestly vexed
     and a tad bit perplexed
And I weep for the sex
     if a "real man" were you
Sanctimonious smile
     and an unctuous tone
     sounds all a bit smug
     if not downright untrue

So let's not pretend
     I'm all but your friend
And I won't let this end
     with me condemned to hell
You'll have appear
     to make your product more appealing
     given the gruesome veneer
     of the god that you sell

-o0o-

http://www.patheos.com/blogs/friendlyatheist/2012/10/16/dinesh-dsouza-who-opposes-gay-marriage-is-divorcing-his-wife-for-a-younger-woman/

http://gawker.com/5953049/married-dinesh-dsouzas-mistress-also-married

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/john-corvino/dsouza-the-real-problem_b_1998800.html

http://blog.christianitytoday.com/women/2012/10/why-the-dinesh-dsouza-scandal.html

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/10/19/nyregion/dinesh-dsouza-is-out-as-kings-college-president-in-scandal.html?_r=0

Away from the Menagerie

With her eyes flint-sharpened
     and her callous face poised against
     the outer influences of men.
She stands defiant
     the soft heart within
     shielded against them
Heartless vulgarites
     that jeer at her
     scratching to get at her
She smiles with saccharine
     belying feigned satisfaction
     getting home in one piece
To relax
     and enjoy a cup of coffee
     away from the Menagerie

-o0o-