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kasia 2h
the feminine body, the feminine aura
was glorious. and she wanted to be glorious.
she could see it real in her mind's eye,
          feel it there in her body's soul.
the ***** of Her spine as She arches Her back
the curve of Her hips
the softness of Her touch...

          and men...
well, she never did see men as glorious.
          never could, it wasn't so.
there was a certain admiration, she supposed,
          one could hold
                    for their figure,
the magnificence of the human body.
but that gloriousness,
          the kind found in the tenderness of Her kiss,
                                      in the strength of Her self,
          that, they lacked.

so that's not why she envied them,
          but envy she did.
the way their clothes fit,
          the way they could move,
                    the way she could not.
they held convenience, she guessed.
she guessed.
          is that what she wanted?
          just a body so convenient?

the body of Woman
          still surely was not
          surely it was not
          surely not on her.
it was imperfect on her,
its beauty dimmed down.
a costume ill-fitted that she couldn't tear off.
and convenient masculinity
a disguise too well made,
an impression ill-suited that wouldn't wear off.

she was wrong, she was wrong!
          boy, girl, what?
was she wrong?
she wanted to be beautiful!
          it was Woman she admired.
she was not, they called her "boy"
          but of that role, she'd long tired.
what happens if you never find a place to stick?
acutely aware
that nothing will ever fit
someone, please, make a box
          and shove her into it.
some ******* abt what the **** i feel abt my gender and how i look n ****,,,, tl;dr, ****** hate myself and dont know anything .
Elyse E 1d
i saw a woman in my reflection tonight.
she stared at me with a challenge in her eyes, she looked like she wanted me to dare her.
she craved my indecision so she could knock it down and build some sure in its place.
her jawline looked like it could bite anyone who said she wasn't good enough. her jawline screamed good enough, great enough. it screamed its beauty. it will not listen to you.
her eyebrows ran free. they remembered years of pulling and plucking and shaping into something everyone wanted, and they sat and sang, defiant, knowing they were right all along.
those eyebrows were ferocious.
her nose held still some child, the only part that wasn't letting go. it still wanted buttons and stuffed animals, it still clung to me.
but she wasn't letting that stop her.
she pulled my eyes down, i saw her torso and shapes.
she was stout. her back wanted me to say she wasn't tall enough, so it could straighten and take up the whole room. it deserved the whole room.
her chest was there, feminine, developed. it didn't care for pressing and pressuring, it said, "here is a woman and she is for all of us. she will fight for all of us."
the shape of her was clear. there was no trickery involved in making her human.
her hair hung forward. it desperately tried to claim some innocence by covering one of those indignant eyes, but that eye just gleamed and glared right on through.
those arms held nations at their wrists, and those fingers itched to point at what she planned to change. she looked like she could wrangle a child, a horse, a life. she looked like she could save you, or anyone.
she was already saving me.
she always was.
definitely looking for feedback and room for improvement on this one!
Elyse E 1d
it was never the big boy parts i wanted.
it was their soft details.
i wanted my arms to be more fuzzy, with wisps gleaming golden and straw in sun.
i wanted my shoulders to be broad, unbroken, and busy. i wanted to carry weight and spin girls dizzy.
i wanted a back, straight, always pointing north. i wanted angles and shores, i wanted fuzz and more.
i toothbrushed my face every night, suds glistening, mind listening, waiting for days where i had something to clean,
when it would feel just right.
i told myself i wouldn't let it be me, i pressed into seams and skirt's flow and i acted like i didn't know how it hurt.
i wanted dropped sounds and fewer mounds, i wanted free of feminine ecstasy. i wanted golf rounds and the sounds of a daughter looking at me
and saying daddy.
i pushed my fears into my pants, i held onto cramps and crowns, focusing so that i could be less man and less frowns. i packed and bound and wondered if i was right.
if i really was Eli at night.
so i'm sailing these seas of hormones and bliss, i'm sealing my soul with every kiss, and i'm looking at our horizons.
and i'm wondering if there is a me out there.
Josiah Ruth Nov 3
Who am I to judge?
We're all living in a sinful state
Committing same sin in different manners.
She toned her skin, now she's taken a refugee in her own world
It doesn't count, the reason she did so
All we care for is the skin color.
How about if she toned it to be black?
Less judgements and criticisms
We are all guilty
He molested the young girl, society wants to end her life.
Peace is far from her, nobody cares to know her mental status
Convicted before the court did
How about the child been a boy?
Masculinity shields his fears and the war he encounters.
We all are guilty
The pastors daughter aborted her child
Members withdrew from worshipping with them
His words are nothing again, useless his ministry is regarded as
Yet the member have aborted
We visited to wish her quickest recovery
Maybe abortion is a sin for members
The love and care is restricted from pastors children
We all are guilty.
What happens when we call sin a sin?
Regardless of who committed it
Throwing shades on a gender while another takes the glory for doing same
Wouldn't make us heroes rather victims of lies
Guilty of our own choices and words.
We are all guilty.
It's not a fallacy to state that our problem is not that we're imperfect rather we're guilty of condemning another for committing an act in a different manner. Gender suppression isn't limited to the girls rather it is used as a shield for the boys. What will happen when we condemn another without been biased? We are not ignorant of anything but knowing that our words, actions will either make or mare another elevates us. Choose to act right and live right.
Sydney Noxon Nov 1
The words I don’t yet have are ones to describe my trauma.
Too young to understand what happened, young enough to let it determine the course of my future relationships.
Consent wasn’t part of my vocabulary until I was an adult.
Coercion, drugs, NO...
If I speak these words into the universe, the actions become real, not a figment of my memory.
The trauma of being called a ****, a *****, “giving it up” too soon.
Feeling like a chewed piece of gum, tape that lost its stick, a crumpled piece of paper.
No one wants you if you’ve been used.
An experience for one in five women, yet still taboo.

The words I don’t yet have are ones to describe my ***** identity.
***** and trans but passing as female…
I’ll never “pass” as nonbinary because society sees nothing but male or female.
The struggle of questioning my gender, binding my chest, compressing on my lungs to force out the female.
The hourglass figure with the ******* and fat ***, thick thighs and that extra baby fat;
Female body down to the ******, but without the identity.
The pain of being called a ****, a ******, a “what’s between your legs?”,
having your body scrutinized, looking for your true identity.
Even in the trans community, there’s still a binary.

The words I don’t yet have are ones to describe a better future for us survivors.
The world I want is one where victims aren’t dismissed,
one where perpetrators are held accountable.
A college calendar isn’t proof of where he was that one night.
A president can’t just grab me by the *****.
A college ******’s swim career isn’t ruined because he “made a mistake.”

A radical thought would be to punish white men for their crimes.
I imagine a world where women and survivors don’t have to live with trauma,
don’t have to sit in court and face their perpetrator,
don’t have to relive their experience.
I imagine a world where male survivors aren’t ignored,
one where bisexual women aren’t more likely to experience ****** violence,
one where false accusations aren’t more of a concern than actual assault.

The words I don’t yet have are ones to describe a better future for ******.
The world I want is one where we can feel safe just for existing.
Activism doesn’t stop at marriage equality.
Bisexuality isn’t just “pick a side.”
Transgender people don’t need to disclose about their ****, *****, or other.

A radical thought would be to stop murdering black trans women.
I imagine a world where children are taught about the fluidity of sexuality and gender in school.
A world where parents don’t render their children homeless when they come out.
One where the closet is a place for your clothes, not a place to hide.
I imagine a world where your sexuality isn’t illegal,
where corporations don’t leech onto Pride for advertisement.

The words I don’t yet have are on the tip of my tongue,
but won’t cascade out of my mouth.
These words aren’t as free flowing as a waterfall,
but they’re as stagnant as a polluted lake.
Stuck in my throat, poisoning me,
until one day I scream them out into the void.
Carter Ginter Oct 30
As I picture myself in the future
Through years of HRT
Small glimmers of excitement
Reflect off the walls of my heart
I rarely feel excitement these days
So this instance is important
I picture ****** hair and muscles
A deepened voice ands flat chest
The physical changes excite me
It's the social ones that scare me
I cannot imagine having male privilege
I cannot imagine not feeling objectified
I cannot imagine being read as a man
I was raised in a position of oppression
I am constantly stared at and made into
Nothing more than the prospect of my *******
And yet,
One day,
It will no longer be that way
I'll just look like a basic white boy
And they'll have no idea
Except that I will not stay silent
I will not hide in the shadows
I am transmasculine and nonbinary
And I refuse to remain invisible
Carter Ginter Oct 30
The person I am now dating
Has come to terms with
His own trans identity
When we met he looked like a girl
But I could sense something within him
Something that resonated with
My own confusing feelings of gender
I asked him if he was trans
And at that point
He used the term nonbinary
I felt really excited about this
Finally there was someone like me
Who definitely was not a woman
But never felt like a man either
It was actually just a space in his journey
And he eventually came out to me again
It's my first time having a boyfriend
Since coming to terms with my queerness
And I love him deeply
But it has not been easy
Mostly because of the fact that
His transition has led me
To come face-to-face with
My own repressed identity
I have to address and recognize
All of my internalized transphobia
Most of which is aimed at the mirror
Fueled by years of denying myself
While I am definitely not a woman
And have never felt like a man
A lot of the time I feel like a boy
And hope that I will pass as such
I am finally ready to really listen to me
And the needs of my identity
To resume my rightful path
On the road to being myself again
Carter Ginter Oct 30
At some point in college
I was dating my first long-term girlfriend
She knew about my being trans
But we didn't talk about it too much
Sometime during that period
She told me that
She didn't think that she could
Stay with me if I made the choice
To take hormones
Or to get bottom surgery
At that point in my life
I didn't want to lose her or that love
So I decided that I didn't want those things anymore
That I felt good enough without them
Now that it's been a few years
I'm just realizing that I lied to myself
I chose to repress those desires
In order to preserve my relationship
And it took three years after that
To even realize what I'd done to myself
Carter Ginter Oct 30
My second year in college
I was enrolled in LGBT psychology
I had just contacted my insurance
Regarding the possibility of top surgery
Although the website included it
They told me they wouldn't cover it
My heart caved in on itself
And I knew it wasn't going to happen
Then one day during class
We had guest speakers there
One of them was a trans woman
Who had transitioned successfully
I was wholly inspired again and
When I asked her some questions
I began crying uncontrollably
I was surprised and embarrassed
In a way I knew she understood
And then I repressed that pain
I knew I'd have to wait for it and
I didn't want to hurt that much along the way
Carter Ginter Oct 30
Laying alone in my bed
******* in the dark
******* sending scathing ripples
Across my covered female anatomy
And yet in my mind I didn't see that
I pictured myself with women
Which I always attributed to
My hella ***** identity
Except I was never myself in the fantasies
My friend told me that's why I couldn't ******
Because I needed to make the thoughts
Much more personal than that
Yet it didn't feel the same
As watching the strangers in ****
In my fantasies, I wasn't me
But I also was
I felt synonymous with the person I saw
I imagined feeling what they felt
But they had a *****
I did not
I thought it was just a kink
I don't think that anymore
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