Category: citizen trans* {project}
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Well, the world is ending as it did. But before gun barrels shove into mouths where only popsicles should go- someone needs to teach the abandoned puppy how to walk on a leash, someone needs to empty the dishwasher, pick up the Big Gulp lids from the turtle spawning grounds, rub sunscreen on the wiggling…
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Yesterday I drove my son back homewithout crying, long past tears, knowingsoon I’ll leave, no more weekend sharedcustody, in attempt to flee draconian lawsdevised to erase and replace me with masksI wore but never wanted. He doesn’t knowwhy I jump at every knock shatteringsilence, but my edginess seeps into himand he knows it’s not right.…
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i didn’t worry for myself but for my mother who took each morning bus and breathed the same air that housed the voice of the man who harassed her for the coworker who took each workday like a prescription for the man i knew in college who shared his younger sister’s artwork and wondered aloud…
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Trans lives matter despite what they say going back into the closet can’t be the only way I loathe darkness now that I know light my friends huddle in fear my family mark their calendars a man anointed to serve my country nazi salutes a want to be dictator a friend said that might end…
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I’ve seen you singing in the floor of the train car. The screeching of the tracks, background singers. Nobody else knows it’s the rest of the sky down there. I try and count the stars but people keep treading over them. A light dusting, it seems to accompany every galaxy. But it wasn’t the dirt…
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And we were popular for a little while. As muses. As specimens. As celluloid and dreams. Maybe Warhola saw a little of himself in us, with his dumb blonde twink toupe and his ancestors from one of the bad parts of Eastern Europe that no one wants to remember. The same forgotten language, по-нашому, in…
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“It could have been a lot of stuff but it just wasn’t us / The very thought of how you operate, I’m filled up with disgust / I live and die for the cause, nail me to the cross / Take your pity off, maybe listen up (Let go)” –Bladee, “UNDERSTATEMENT” (SPIDERR) Existing as…
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My alarm blares with some song I picked when I was thirteen. I haven’t bothered to change it. I don’t open my eyes because that would mean another day has started. Eventually, and reluctantly, I untangle the mess of sheets and limbs and shut off the music. I scan…