pastel-pink

It’s the little things,
The girl who saw me walking behind her and held the girl’s room door open for me – though I just came out of the men’s…
I suppose I want women to feel safe –
A spell of jiu-jitsu classes and the pepper spray on my purse is my surety,
But women’s glances never make me feel in danger
Hell: I survived living in the mountains, endangered
Where I had to hike out to be myself,
To dyke out, and see myself…
Take my shirt off and sport my pastel-pink ‘namaste relaxed’ sports bra;
Used to be a sports bro, for real tho:
Rugby player, lifter, grappler, a real ho
Now i’m just a wannabe-trap,
Transfemme-vegan
Need more trans friends, second life-begin
Because i’m an hsp introvert, and tho I love solitude,
The ostricization really-do-hurt
Not from the dude whose wounds it do hurt, who hocks and spits on the ground near me,
But from the brats at that bootleg-ass “birdrock” yoga – who turned their backs to me…
…Guess I’ll stick to MB and Trilogy when visiting family,
Fuck a core power bish,
A spirit yoga brat
Kim told me my Ujjayi is fantastic
howboudah?
I’m set-checking yoga studios,
But some feel like straight up dens for Terf hos,
Okay maybe not
But when you’re a walking inclusivity test you get to say your say, you know
So fuck cafe grattitude’s “men’s” and “women’s” “rest”rooms
And making trans and non-binary folks choose
Those experiences can give us the the blues – and be dangerous too –
As if the general stone faces or the stares, or the yelling, the toxicity of repressed fetishization, aren’t tough enough on the daily;
I like to order groceries,
Can you blame me
I’ve never casually been called “man” more in my life
Like, no man, you see my belly shirt, slides, yoga pants, pink cardigan… purse,
I’m proudly not a sir, I’m a they/them, or a Her,
But ignorance is not my concern,
Just the hate,
The pain of being outcast
But one day, it won’t be like that
Already, I’m loved by all the coolest cats,
Tho no one gets ghosted more than trans-girls, trust me
Maybe that’s why I’ve never had lesbian sex yet,
Celibate AF,
My ego doesn’t need any cloud,
I’ve been fucking loving myself, and fucking myself
Since I got sober, got-over, and came out;
Call me Law, bitch
But yeah; some ppl I really do fux with,
Like the girl who called me honey and gave me my tea for free,
Or the young girl I passed, of perhaps 16, and the votes of approbation and support she cast in her looks toward me,
Fuck it makes me cry just to think about;
It’s groovy to witness the first generation with the requisite ethical-maturity to handle immortality –
And it ain’t your’s Karen –
… Lastly, while the exclusion and prejudice against girls like us sucks, we aren’t alone,
For the friendliness and warmth shown me from those in other marginalized commmunities means the world to me, because, not blinded by privilidge, they have the eyes to see,
What it is not to be seen

just so you know, vegan girl

you were the girl who made my whole night, on my 8 mile walk
you reminded me that one person can be your whole world, can change your whole experience of life –
damn you for giving me hope –
but it is said we fall in love with shared values, real love
and I know: you has a man
and he seemed a pretty damn solid-dude too,
but I wonder how much he is like your father,
how much he treats you like a child
for you and I spoke like children:
beautifully, purely,
conversing, sharing space –
and it was so nice I could cry a little and imagine a lot
and I hope you see this,
because you gave me some peace tonight – the kind gone awhile –
and I’m taking it to bed w me,
holding onto the optimism I walked away from you with,
until I see you again,
which may be never,
so forever it is

my best

been doing it,
my best
no crutches,
real sobriety; feelings,
and a vulnerability that leaves me more aware than afraid
bc I heard the truest words last night, when the checker at the grocery told me: “be careful out there”,
and I knew just what he meant;
the vulnerability is palpable,
as real as the judgements – the looks, the hate – which, sadly, seems severest from women who do not accept girls like us as valid:
what more can I say: i’m so fucking brave, so fucking femme –
and no social media, no faux friends,
no dating apps, no lays –
guess I quit the sex after one yoga teacher followed another,
and reminded me that I am so worthy / as desirable as I ever was to a Shannon, a Sarah (hell, even that girl Dnaiella)
but I know it’s an inside job: so I’m doing it now,
and I’ve finally found love within, made it rain, cashing in,
so i’ll never be without again –
i’m me,
my lover and best friend, without a doubt, until the end –
but the plot’s still thickening;
it is all really happening,
and I know I can’t stop time,
so I’m making something out of myself,
and I need no one else,
just my family and my privacy,
just a little more leveling up;
we’re already magnitudes more than fine;
I’ve never felt happier to be alive,
on this glow-up of mine
pause –
bitch I am tranta claus,
granter of my own wishes 💅🏼,
self-fulfilled profit;
doer, alchemist, tantric animal,
celibate wonder
on a quest,
belly full of vegan:
plant powered, I’m a star;
and we can go anywhere we want;
bc I sign my own permission slips bitch,
and I don’t take any shit,
not from a soul
to think, I’ve really changed,
i’m really at home in the world
the most animal of all the humans
and I get it, I’m learning to use the hardware in my head:
long days at the cowork suite,
long walks at night,
self-talk, breath,
water,
early bed, clairo album before sleep,
norman fucking rockwell,
beatrice eli, showgirls live at dramaten 😍
and a strength I’ve never known;
I think this is what courage looks like,
I think this is what making it feels like,
I think this is what it actually is:
being proud to be you;
totally forgiving your self,
letting go, holding on,
and never giving up on doing your best.

somebody / fated / nulled

I wish I was somebody, but I’m not;
Not that I’m nobody, but I’m not enough to matter to her;
‘It wouldn’t change anything’, she would say,
But it would: I know it –
And why, why do I miss the bitch who disowned me so much…
I guess you would have to have been seen and loved by a girl like Sarah to know what I live without,
To know how invisible I have felt without her innate understanding of the things she got right about me, the things she showed me
Sometimes it’s all I see of myself:
Just the vapor of her imago of me,
Kept alive by the mental doppelgänger of her I am fated to carry within me for the rest of my years:
God fuck it hurts –
And now that I went from a quarter a day to zero cannabis,
Her ghost is back
And I can’t do anything about it –
Because I already drank till I lost my appetite and went to hell,
And I already smoked till my throat hurt, joint after joint:
And I already got sober… but it no cure my hurt
Guess this is the punishment for my pleasure,
The price for the thousand-and-one skin-to-skin nights, and the subsequent oxcytocin that used to flow between us,
Bonding me to her like no other;
Only, this is “the pattern”
The same I dumbly did with two others,
Who also felt it was a great misfortune to know me –
But no, it was no tragedy of their love to disown me, but the great tragedy of my life to be made unknown to them, to have my paradise made mythical, my deepest love made Atlantis, sunk costs; lost cause –
For we don’t die at the end of life but all along, bit by bit, loss by loss, pain by lasting pain –
And I’m fucking dying tonight, no appetite, just the hurt, the empty
The loneliness of life on her bad side,
Which I have to hate her for –
Lest I betray my self,
Like I already did days before sober,
When I beleived all the things she does about me –
Because that’s the thing: I’m just a fucking loser not worth knowing to her,
So one day I’ll make sure she can’t meet someone who doesn’t know who I am,
Who doesn’t know I’m somebody –
And in doing so, I shall make my tragedy her’s,
And again: I pray this is my last poem for her,
But I had to write it,
To keep myself alive,
To prove that there might be a way out of this other than death;
For while her animus once brought me to life – it is my animus [towards her] that keeps me alive:
So it is, Dantes nears closer the Count tonight,
And my dark heart, this pain, nears me closer my self,
Further from the boy she thought she knew,
The one she nulled.