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a dress
a skirt
pink lipstick
that never felt quite like me
baggy pants
baseball cap
dirt and roughhousing
that wasn't quite me either
I was ugly
or at least everyone told me I was
I was too masculine acting
sometimes feminine features
my chest was too flat to be a real girl
my walk was too swagger infused
my fashion style, too--- not enough cleavage if you know what I mean
apparently a shirt and a pair of pants suddenly made me unattractive to both sexes
both sexes
both
I felt like both
makeup and a baseball cap
flat chest, and a flower skirt
skateboards and hair products galore
looking back,
I was always fluid.
the gender waters in which I was drowing
I was only drowning in because I can swim in both currents
fluid
fluid
fluid
****
Living
Under
Imposed
Doctrines
Dakota Aug 2017
in a workshop i wrote
about a boy who kissed me
after i told him not to.
in the piece i called
myself Clementine.
admitting that i was
kissed without permission
seemed so much easier
than not misgendering myself
in front of fifty people.
fairyenby Jul 2017
It drives me insane when people see me holding a girls hand and ask
“So who’s the guy? You know, who wears the pants?”
I want to scream and say WE ARE LESBIANS. Firstly, neither of us are ever wearing any pants. I want to scream and say WE ARE LESBIANS, and i’m angry because lesbian does not always have to mean woman but where did you get man from? I’m angry because maybe sometimes one of us does identify as a guy. A gay boi with an I. A soft boy. A proud hairy legged 5”4 boy. A drinking pints in the pub with my dad and us both liking that same woman’s tattoo boy. A cries every day boy. A feels cool when drinking beer boy. A boy that had to teach themself to like beer boy. A boy who sometimes does not feel like a boy. A boy. A boy. Oh boy. Boys. You see, this question is confusing for me because when I was fourteen, my boyfriend and I would joke that I was the one wearing the pants, even though at that point I was very much still wearing skirts and hiding behind ****-length hair and also watching the L Word in secret when I got home from school but that’s besides the point. This question is obviously as confusing for you as it is for me because in your mind you see two pairs of **** holding hands on the tube and think: Lesbians. Now, which one’s the man? And I think to myself, there are two ways to answer this: Number 1: So I know lesbian is supposed to mean woman on woman, two vaginas, *******, strap-ons, veganism, art degrees (and a lot of this is true but let’s not stereotype). So I know that to you, although we appear to be two women, two snap-back wearing, sports-bra bearing- I mean I thought about writing *****- tearing here but it just doesn’t seem appropriate- women, the funny thing is that erm, you see, gender and sexuality: as different as my dad to my mum’s other ex-husband. We are not a man and a woman. We are two people and what do pants have to do with it? We are two people and why does one of us always have to be a man? We are two people and the awkward part of the point i’m making is that sometimes I don’t feel like a woman but you wouldn’t know that so let me say: we are not a man and a woman. We did not ask for your confrontation, we are not your designated driver, your answer sheet to an exam you haven’t sat yet, your house party when your parents go away, your girlfriend that you think is obliged to **** your **** even though you will not go anywhere near her ****.  You are not our three year old son who asks too many inappropriate questions. To you, we are strangers and to answer your question, you seem to think that you’re wearing the pants here. So wear them. By the way, Number 2: *******.
this is a draft nd might be changed but also might not be so

yeah

I got angry again

x
fairyenby Jul 2017
a body
floating in space
a mirror
unknown, a face
a chest, that rises and falls
*******, unwanted, I stall
this label, this name, this "girl"
whom only on certain days, echoes my world
otherwise i'm known as the ghost
an inbetween, a maybe,
almost.
April 2016
ab May 2017
i left the remnants
of my disappointment
in the collar
of my favorite
shirt

there for the universe
to find

the tie
became a noose
choking out any last hope
i had
for redemption

and i shredded
the jeans which
illuminated
my hips and thighs

my stomach
will not play nice
for as i taunt it
it screams vindictively

i hid the anguish
under my fingernails
until they had to be clipped
and then there was
nowhere

and so i curled
into a ball
in the coldest of oceans
waiting for the heat
of a volcano
to swallow
me up

but the volcano
won't come

i've been waiting
for a long time

and the warmth
just isn't there

my chest aches
still

you would think the cold
would have numbed it
by now
~and as the mucus collects i cough up mud
ab May 2017
the transparency of
running water
over stone
is too much
for me to bear

i dropped my identity
into the water
and let it become
a stone

and as the mud
and ash and dirt
washed away

i saw far too clearly
what i had neglected
and the cracks
in sincerity

and i bound
my heart
and ribs
and tongue
in a tight pair of pantyhose

but it stopped my breath
and made me ache
in a way
i never knew
was possible

when i
got my breath back
i cried
with the realization
that
i should have never
started again
if i wanted
to be perfect

so i stepped
on the wildflowers
of renewal,
buttoned up my collar,
and slept in the rain
~i'm ready for the rain
ab May 2017
he colored his fingernails
with his mother's nail polish
and grew his hair long
for appeasement

but when he left
he cut it short
like it was meant
to be

one day
he came to lunch
in distress

once he explained
they were confused
but supportive

and so things began
to change

and that is how
it should be

but it isn't always
this simple

because just like
lipstick
and ***** nails
aren't mutually exclusive

masculinity and femininity
aren't mutually exclusive either

and when a boy
in his own community,
the last one he'd expect,
told him he wasn't real
like he was a figment
of their imaginations

he came back with a rage
the others had never seen

and they were proud

and when others
started coming out around them

they were proud

and as the community grew

they were proud

we were proud

i was proud

then i just *was
~a perfect storm
ab May 2017
the earth
***** him inwards
with the weight
of his assumed sins
on his back

everyone around him
radiates rainbow rays
from every pore
shining blue
and lilac
and the reddish-orange shade
of fire

but he is scared

he refuses to speak
the sugary affections
which flake
from his mouth
like
coconut

he hides behind
the mask of disease
of which they think
he is afflicted

and his lips
burn like fire
every time he mentions
the tragedy
of perception

so he slinks away
to the back of the room

he took
a knife
to his long curls

he painted his skin
with watercolors
to change it
just enough
to smile a little

but his family
is none the wiser
~perceived affliction is worse than actual affliction
matthew Mar 2017
A shout out to the transgender people,
to the strong women and men,
may you see yourselves as self-made heroes.

A shout out to the non-binaries,
to the gender less,
the in between,
may you take pride in who you are.

Happy Trans Visibility Day.
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