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Maggie Emmett May 2016
Gendering Woman *******

Beautiful, anatomical part //  Ugly, anatomical part
Natural, pleasurable             //   Burdensome, loathsome
Female Symbolic                //    Femme Symbolic
MALIGNANT                             HEALTHY

fearful, tearful, wretched     //  joyful, hopeful, euphoric,
bereft, wept, grieving          //  embryonic, rapt, relieving
leaving, loss                         //  believing, gain
m a y b e - d e a t h                                            r e - b i r t h
                                                   BI-LATERAL
                                             MASTECTOMIES
Operating Theatre

SURGEON                                         ANAESTHETIST
cleaning/ cutting/ knife/ scalpel   //   doping/ unconscious/ airway
blood / tissue                                 //   hypotension
loss/ damage                                 //   shock
drains                                             //   sinus rhythm
stitches                                           //   pain deadening
tight binding                                 //   reversal drugs
                                    
POST-OPERATIVE
a l i v e                                                a w a k e

draining, bound & stitched               draining, bound & stitched
                                            DRAINED
    ­                                   ~ UNBOUND
                                       -- UNSTITCHED –

Empty chest                                                    Flat Chest
FREEDOM from Disease                               FREEDOM from Dis-ease


© M.L.Emmett
This was written to explore the different responses to bi-lateral mastectomies, one woman with Cancer; the other trans gendering. It was inspired by reading The Argonauts by Maggie Nelson, whose partner, Harry, was pleased to be rid of these cumbersome appendages & by my friend, Angela who had breast carcinoma and felt very differently towards the loss of *******.
Emanuel Martinez Jan 2013
Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Being bled onto
The landscapes between thighs

Incarcerating women's wombs
Justifying men's genes
Foreigners appropriating
Women's and men's sexualities

Losing the power to be
When changing our roles' long overdue
Gendering our words and attitudes

Man, who taught you to be a chauvinist!
Woman, who taught you to be a *******?
Don't put your god in gendered bigotry

Do man's emotions feminize him?
When will women freely carry torches!

What gender do you assign this voice?
What gender do you assign this words?
Will the masses even understand these choices?

Don't worry, my sexuality won't infect you
Criminalizing sexuality
Placing it front and center, implying that's all I am

Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Being bled onto
The landscapes between thighs

Graffiti, defiling the masses not high classes
Because men and women of society
Full of stride, take pride, in their gendered hyde

Graffiti, defiling the masses not high classes
Ignored hoods, barrios, countrysides, ghettos, projects
Devouring women's and men's bodies

Younger and younger people falling to ***/AIDS and STDS
Vaginas receiving the violence, wombs bringing misery
LGBT youth ****** into fire
Lost males (in mental chains) ****** to assert their manhoods

Graffiti, Graffiti, Graffiti
Full of dangerous chemicals, being sprayed onto
The landscapes between thighs
Attempting to legislate our stories, without warrant
January 29, 2013
Jessi Ann May 2011
"I believe I am, my good sir, a noble beast and nothing more."
The words slip through my scabbed and scarring lips
lips feigning callousness, lips begging for benediction,
praying to be the passado,
beholden to the omniscient things that seem never to sleep
yet are always dreaming a dream
that I seem to be suspended in;
a syncopated nonsense of person,
ludicrous.

"I would not expect you to understand the nature of me."
And it is true;
I brace myself for the eventual
the inevitable
the unavoidable
the necessary and the fixed
misunderstanding
so that when he she it them they those
eyes me from across the table
peering over my coffee cup or my notebook
and says, "No, my dear, that is not it at all,"
I may smile
rather than rip my hair out
at the thought that I am now their "dear".

"I'm hurting."
Yes, I seem to live this life,
this half existence
floating between apathy and terror,
enveloped in some sort of dissonance;
some of the time I live
in this tangible thing--
others I am whisked away
by the very thought of thinking
and, to tell the truth,
I am so very tired.

"I'd be lying if I said I'm not a little bit angry."
A desperate creature I have turned out to be,
an animal grasping at the very straws of nature,
creeping,
moaning and murmuring sorrowful things
to the dark in which I began,
groping for light,
longing for some kind of motivation
that is not
"do or you will die."

"I am very gracefully falling apart."
This thing that is broken inside me
is it in my mind, in my brain, where?
Am I so very foolish to believe
that I was made for something
beautiful, clear, shining,
something with posture?
Yes, a proper fool I am,
but even fools need propriety sometimes.

"I am the bane of human existence."
Yes, but I am so much more as well,
and I have created an anthem:


I am the morning.
I have a feral passion locked away,
safe for my piano, safe for my lovers.
You cannot find me in books,
you cannot photograph what is in me,
you cannot steal it.
I am a mighty thing,
a thing of the sea, a thing of the earth,
a lovely thing.
I am righteous,
a divinity of my own,
a coarse deity of glass and stone
and I will not be ashamed.
The wars of this place rage on and on,
threatening to overwhelm,
bullying those who would refuse to roll over
but I am not afraid;
I shall be here at dawn
when all the world has washed away.
A wife her husband's tool did sever,
Causing him in court to file for divorce
From his cruel and heartless smasher.
And ere the Magistrate with a voice
Mellow the man narrated how his mate,
Prior to that brutality, has been starving
Him of ***, that except to procreate,
She rarely allows him conjugal gendering.

Another pair about which I read, this time,
Howbeit, it was the wife that sought for
Split from her hubby, whose chief crime
Was, again, appertaining to the succour
Of copulation, telling the court that for almost
Six months straight, her man never did her
In the buff behold, let alone upon her crust
And crumb feasted; wherefore depriving her.


Is love acclaimed nought but a fancy fad,
That at last in divorce it at times ends?
The above accounts are no tales, though sad,
By a drunk told. How heart commends
Itself to lovelorness' rack! What about spouses
Also that did their partners ****** for a reason
Dark? Why will married couples their houses
And homes turn into affection prison?


And those couples initially, at first, when
They in courtship were, would truly seem,
The very best peacock and peahen
To themselves--a groom and bride dream.
Was this sight silly and that heart foolish
When they did settle for that guy and girl
Of all babes and blokes admired and cherish-
Ed then, for whom they did daily whirl?

Marriage dissolution is a grave malady,
Rendering relation, keeping parents and kids at
Bay by breaking a once very close-knit family
Apart, and, which also pierces God's holy heart
With anguish; yet we seem to be making light
Of our vows sacred: for worse and for better,
To love indeed forever in good and ill plight,
Uttering promises at the altar that no sooner alter.

Though marriage is beyond the bliss of bed,
Enduring nay by just rolling in a deep hay
Ever and anon, and smooching to the red,
For couple cannot in that mood every day
And occasion be; yet of coitus, each other
Must they not deny for some excuses bogus,
But should sate their oats promptly, rather
Than yielding to concupiscence or divorce.

And what is the mileage of marriage
Betwixt man and wife upon this earth,
Who with their lips did cheerfully pledge
Before witnesses present,--is it the dearth
Of reasoning when to each other said: "Till
Death do us part"? I cannot it truly fathom
Whole, how marital unions break up. But still,
Know I, relationships do persist with wisdom.

Meanwhile, that man's stitched willie will
Not rise as the sun and be on a nymphet
Set again, save by a miracle. But his evil
Ex-wife can go on to relish in ****** couplet.
Thank heaven, he has three offspring from the
Pact; while the latter story produced only one
Child. Many do take a petty lust for a pretty
Love, playing their queen and king like a pawn.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2023
that depiction of  a scene in Marie-Antoinette...
between
Louis-Stanislas, Comte de Provence -
brother to Louis XVI...
    who would become Louis XVIII
and his wife...
        Princess Maria Giuseppina of Savoy...
where she nagging him to provide
her with a child to stop pestering him
from doing... whatever it was that he was
doing... him remarking...
get your ugly face out of my moon light!

whether it is true via a fictional depiction:
never mind that!
i can trace back to the scene where
both of them are lying in bed
and he's trying to get a *******:
god, that face, there is nothing worse
than an ugly smile on a woman
and i have seen some ugly smiles on women:
beautiful women with ugly smiles...
ugly women with very beautiful
smiles, the paradox...

so he's jerking off while she interrupts
him implying: a man beating a dead horse...
checks under the cover:
well... a dead mouse...
woman's violence thus worded...
subtle, cunning, satanic -
grown-women and the supposed forever-infantile
state of man's mind:
to hunt, to explore to merely exist
by the sustenance of thought alone...
well... she did arrive from Savoy:
which i finally found out was part of Italy
with a Frida Kahlo monobrow and
a 9am moustache shadow beneath her nose...
***-fluff... well... no wonder:
i don't expect Elizabeth I of England
was much to look at...
    perhaps if Picasso hid her in his cubistic
monstrosities of fake-geometry handling...

in which direction?
only last Sunday... what a shift!
i was escorting about 8 police officers
to these two disgruntled women...
woman and daughter...
apparently these two "gangsters" were
threatening them... threatened them with knives...
with balaclava gang-members coming
to the ice-rink to "sort them out"...
something was fishy...
the daughter looked alright...
almost perfect physiognomy...
but the mother's ears... wonky...
i'd be more proud to have the ears of a rugby
player than those ears...
myopic... sickly looking...

me and the police officers managed to find them
bring them down for questioning /
give incident reports...

prior to these two gangsters, "gangsters"
came up to me asking: 'are you the security guard?'
yup... they started chatting to me
before the two women launched at me
with criteria unheard of...
i'm final on this point...
women to me are semi-solipsistic...
they don't even know it...
they don't know it when they wear a mask
of pretending but as quick as honestly
comes unapologetic and demands
impartial equilibration of getting to know
the situation: the mask... sort of... slips...
a lying woman is hardly an architect...
there's only the initial shock of a lie that
she figures will pass-on and through
and will be believed when she makes
a sloppy second stab on any given matter
in the vicinity of the original (lie)...

      this duo should have been ashamed!
truly! a mother and daughter double act
is the worst kind... a father could never persuade
a son to follow suit... but a mother can always
(seemingly) persuade her daughter to replicate
terrible behaviour...

in this instance? the "gangsters"...
when the police officers were questioning the women
i went up back to the ice rink to pick them out...
they were sitting in the polar opposite location
to the women...
"gangsters"...
      as i extended my index finger and asked
them to come with me downstairs
(tugging at an invisible fish-line)
i told them they were not in trouble...
the worst that might happen to them was...
they might get a free police escort home...
a free ride home...
names? Freddie and Georgie...

      turns out these "gangsters" were two
13 year old boys... 13 they said: they looked more
like 8... then again... at least one came from
a single-mother household and had
two older brothers and a younger sister...
under-nourished kid... i looked 13 when i was
8 looking at them...

the women were questioned giving fictional
statements: most probably...
i just sat down with Freddie and Georgie
and talked... this, that... and the other...
Georgie was named Georgie because he was
born on St. George's Day...
Freddie? that's short for Fredrick...
my "supervisor" interrupted me:
no! no one calls their children Fredrick...
it's Freddie...
then Freddie jumped in: i'm sometimes called
Frederico! hey presto!
that's not Friedrich... it's Frederick in Spanish...

huh? what's this? English language trying
to attempt the diminutive form of endearment
by shortening a person's name?
Fredrick becomes Freddie...
Edith becomes Edie...
Matthew becomes Matt
Peter becomes Pete
Samuel becomes Sam
Alexander becomes Alex?!
that's not a diminutive form... nor is it some
variation of endearment that diminutive form
exacts...

zdrobnienie...
        and if this supposed "diminutive" exists
in English... English is too rigid in its form of words...
attache of suffixes -less and -ness and -lessness...
as if something is missing rather than merely shrunk...

in ****** it's thoroughly apparent among nouns,
not merely in given names of people...
e.g. it's not simply Matthew becomes Matt...
i.e. where's the door, door prior...
to wipe my shoes on, i.e. the doormat?
it's ugly! it's horribly self-assured in faking
the diminutive approach...

spread across all, ALL nouns...
sun: słońce
little sun: słoneczko
river: rzeka
little river: rzeczka...

oh! ah ha ha! today i heard the car manufacturer
correct its pronunciation of a letter...
the Czech manufacturer SKODA
actually bothered to stress the Jan Huss'
demand for caron (crown) atop the S...
i actually heard SHKODA...
            crown in Czech... a rugby goalpost
in English... one arm of the Tetragrammaton...
otherwise a: H = Z in ******...
  ŠKODA = szkoda (pity) = oh well...
  oh well = pity... oh well ≠ oops...

and what has English to give "us" when it comes
to the diminutive form? ugliness...
ugliness of names...
Frankie, this lesbian coworker of mine
who, oddly enough has a child... a daughter:
so she wasn't a lesbian all along...
but now she's a butch lesbian...
muscular, i asked her how long it took her to
get a six-pack... 3 months...
she's looking for a gym-rat buddy...
she was thinking of me...
a mohawk haircut... not terribly attractive...
but... what, a, gorgeous, smile!
my "supervisor" giggled about gay-conversion
therapy with her...
Frankie = Francesca... now... correct me if i'm wrong...
Francesca sounds ace of spades ****...
Frankie... gender-neutral is...
like the rest of a gender-neutral world-view...
thing thing thing thing thing thing thing nothing
nothing thing thing thing thing thing thing
anemia
thing thing thing thing anemic thing(s): nothing
thing cube *** asexuality thing thing thing
black thing thing thing thing white thing thing
thing, thing thing thing, nothing, thinking thing
thinking nothing (god); thing thing thing -
but that's English for you... other European
languages have the masculine and the feminine
form... you couldn't get away with transgenderism
in any other language: except for English...
the grammar allows for this phenomenon to take
place! thing thing thing thing...
i know that the French would agree with me...
the Moon is male... the Sun is female...
in English there's a forced-vagueness associated
with gendering "things"... nouns...
loosely, borrowing from Latin:
Luna is a girl's name... alias of the Moon...
and Sol is a boy's name... alias of the Sun...

    the words themselves have a trickle of hope
for gendering objects according to ***...
the Moon in the English instance is a male...
even though he was given a female name prior
and the Sun is a female even though she was
given a male name prior, prior id est in Latin...

i don't think it's enough to simply speak a language:
a parrot can speak a language of human "concerns"
if the precursor of women talking all giddy to an AI
chat bot in the form of SIRI is anything to go by
the engineers must have thought of a parrot...
Hello Polly... Polly wants a *******...
that's how the advent of "intelligence" probably
emerged: simulation of the marriage of
a parrot and an echo...

        it's not enough to speak a language...
there's more to language than simply speaking it:
there's also the aspect of: knowing it...
digging trenches... i don't want to require of myself
to know the grammatical-categorical beside
the clarifying distinctions of what a noun is:
what a verb is... adverb... but then i gloss over
and forget the categorisation of words...
i know what a locksmith knows:
I = key
      O = keyhole
        Φ = I + O = i put a key into a keyhole
i turn the key:
                  I + / + O = Θ
upon turning the key the door U opens:
  Ψ! whether that's Poseidon's trident
or whether that's what psychologists
of today spew: the non-existence of god
and the self: "self" riddled by some
variation of Damocleses' sword...
      authority of thought within the confines
of: ought-i?!

      i walk through... i doubt i will have any serious
readers in this language...
it will take me... at least a bout of gangrene
of blue mingling with green and gold
to arrive at my resting plateau of hope that's
Paris... my love for Paris...
my love of being a stupid 18 year old...
  
wouldn't you believe: i think it was forever a
stupid affair to translate Finnegans Wake into
any language beside the original:
which is literally not so much original as:
originally muddled... since how many languages
are borrowed?

i sat with the "gangsters" until the end: beginning
of their ordeal... i too was given the police-taxi
back home once upon a time...
but then again that time i was given a free-ride
home... some clever ****** thought it was absolutely
necessary that i get alcohol poisoning
in a Seven King's nightclub by the roundabout...
with the floor... sickly sweet covered by carpets...
warm ***** and orange juice... ugh...
i stepped off the bus and collapsed
onto the pavement... i was woken up by
a helpless bystander and a police-officer...
subsequently taken home in a cage...

shameless women... mother & daughter...
but here i was, the "security guard"... trying to explain
to the boys: i know its not fair...
i know... i know... the women will be believed first...
Sally Challen - walked free after killing her
"abusive" husband with a hammer-blow
to the head... i wish Richard (Challen)
was bitten by a hammerhead shark...
  i truly do...
        at least the shark would have been hungry...
**** knows what Sally's inferno of thinking
conjured up prior... it's hardly decent to believe
women... these days... i'd rather play a poker
face gambit on the truthfulness of children...
at least with children there's no ****** inference
bias up to... well... that "bias" ends once they
(the girls) enter a medieval plump *** distinction...
14... maybe 13...
          
      confirmed though...
  once the boys were sent home this other woman
approached me and my "supervisor" and mentioned
an ongoing scenario with the "inbreds"...
a female ******* ring? hmm... maybe...
      Freddie! i know it's unfair... i know...
ladies first... i know she has chicken-nugget looking
ears... she looks like she was born from
a lust of her uncle for her mother and yet
her daughter is some random quickie-fix
while she banked on pure luck... i know, i know...
i'll sit this one out with you...

Frankie in the meantime was planning a date with her
new found ****-loves-**** relationship...
her girlfriend from... near Oxford(?)
was supposed to come down to see the ice hockey match...
already booked a room in the hotel...
but then apparently the girlfriend's car started leaking oil...
so Frankie was left walking alone to an alone-hotel-room
while the gay-conversion jokes rained...
butch *****: but a smile that could melt
any ****-disciple...
              i said my bye-byes and pretended to go home,
early...
did i? nope..

i decided to test my limp-biscuit "problem"...
i went to the brothel...
who was available? only one... the girl with the first
letter: L... not Linda...
i asked for her description: the blonde one...
ah... that one... the one that thinks she ultra-SPAZ
SPACE-X "special"... i'm spezial *** too!
the one into body augmentation...
first her **** wouldn't fit... too small...
prior to the first: 0... i.e. her lips weren't purse enough...
pout not enough bloom of a baboon's ***...
fine fine...

oh i hate pretending to be a Catholic priest
in a brothel... do i have a rubber ear or something?
are these confessions?!
i must be a Catholic priest of sorts: of imitation....
do you know a Catholic "priest"
that doesn't ask for a confession from a *******
after she performs oral *** on him...
and subsequently spews all that "life is crap"
*******?
      last time i heard Catholic priests were ferocious
anti-*** pro-*** with the choir boys...
one **** in one ear one **** out the other...
there are at least three avenues of the "tested"
woman... the vaginal approach...
the **** and the oral... hey presto! your *******
"trinity"... i'm not going to stop *******:
what i didn't receive in my glorified youth
i will not spare in my old age...
beat the child who discovered self-pleasuring
aged 8... before the production of *****
with what he said: "that funny sensation":
not, NOT: feeling... sensation... the tingling
of the choir of Eunuchs...
before the production of ***** arrived...
to squirt...

i write in English... i might have English readers...
me? i'm waiting for French translators...
i don't care one iota over a fabric of fractions
of I/O = an iota over a omicron:
joke in Latin: what's an Ψ without an iota?
an Upsilon or an Omega?
watch the curvatures...
and the sinking ship of a ship that was
never supposed to sail... Ω + I = bow down...
exfoliate: psychology:
logic of soul & the non-existence of god
or soul...
Enlightenment? Renaissance or:
Re-convalescence?
                oh... right... right... this be the first?
the times of the first illness of
post-colonial capitalistic restructuring having
defeated the "ancient" enemy of the communist
harpie-up: rouse-down...
    
solo-project "detail-lost detail-friendly"
advertisements... must be a island-dwelling folk
"thing"... hence the persistent writing of English history:
the Norman invasion: must be celebrated!
the Anglo-Saxon lineage must be celebrated!
via pity, pillage, **** and... unwanted women!
i don't want to mingle with these native women!
i'm here like a kindred hope of:
sending a postcard from Hawaii...
thinking about a beauty from Grenoble...
while at the same time having a burning effigy
of a girl from St. Petersburg...
but rather succumbing to the magnet of a pair
of eyes from the Carpathian region of Moldova...

me? i just landed the prize of writing within the confines
of the Medieval version of the Lingua Franca...
English is the language of commerce...
i know it tries to: in vain... to be this insomnia tongue
of the former British Empire...
spoken "elsewhere": everywhere...
but no... pockets of resistance...
Kashmir... teach those sieving through
poppy-mud the artefacts of Braille in Arabic
concerning the region having giving
Alexander the Great the grand limp **** of
a sword with a sheaf of Afghanistan...
how those men must have loved those women...
terribly not surprised that i don't love
those in my vicinity...

                expandable in times of war...
now? expandable in times of peace...
                if not turning one's bright cheeks for
some **** slapping: turning into a quasi-celibate monster
listening to prostitutes telling me of their woes...
thanking me for listening to them...
with L: her ******* done, her lips done...
next? her liposuction belly and arms...
not the effort of exercise in sight...
the quickie monstrosity...
then her teeth: i showed her my clearly aligned teeth
like the stampede of the Polish-Lithuanian
hussars before the siege of Vienna...
      smile: clearly aligned constellation of stars...

two women in the past have revealed dreams about
me they had that came true:
Ilona - she actually sketched it...
and showed it to me...
i was standing in a Judas' pose with my back turned
before her kneeling: arms outstretched
as if to be crucified...
long hair... naked upper body...
holding a sword in my right hand:
that's before the Russian invasion
    of Ukraine... before i wandered into the forest
and found my Cossack shashka...

another dream: displaying photographs of girls
before Danielle... apparently i was happy...
that last email i received from Danielle was
almost 7 years ago...
i think i'll send her a reply...
          
          it might be almost a decade apart...
compliment? hardly...
          but i guess that's how we always were:
why oh why Disney took the reins on
the imagination of youngsters and not
something from Studio Ghibli...
  America is decadent: pederastic...
America was a borrowed civilisation:
hence? its short-lived stature of a status of
faking civilisation: via: "culture"...
its culture is parasitic...
          America has no civilisational focus...
its an extension of Europe...
in times when Europe doesn't appreciate
"said" extensions...
China is a civilisation...
Russia and India are civilisations...
America is a culture...
it's not a civilisation...
              
          America is a culture-state
whereas China is a civilisation-state...
power-hungry-mongrels... god help us if they become
fiendish pseudo-Mongols!
America would require for Europe to
disappear: and for that to be the case:
it must... Europe must burden itself
with an ethnic anemia for America
for "become" a civilisation...
      
              whatever the "Jew" failed to employ
in his exile in Europe will not:
doubly will not achieve in North America...
Marcus Garvey or H. P. Lovecraft bedbug-love-buddies
aligned...
              struck by the wave of heightened:
wow! the Arabs joked about Moses and the 40
years in the desert... no wonder the camel-jockeys
never left... waiting for dragons of myth
to turn into dinosaur sludge post-locomotive
crescendo of wealth!

      my ***** your ***** anyone's AI bore...
that's globalism: the free-market free-world
enterprise... except for:
what's outside the realm of orbits...
in the vacuum: in the unknown:
clearly now known:
there are foundations: there are restrictions...
there are forests worth of the impaled that
suffered worse fates than the "supposed"
ultimatums of gods unto men with those
that were crucified... please! spare me!

boo! who?! boo! who?!
i might write in English...
but i'm not English...
i'm not exactly happy about an English speaking
audience... i'm waiting for the translators...
i'll be dead before my wishes come
true...and all the better... given
the climate of the currency of these times:
i.e. wasting each and each other's time...
while solidifying an abstraction
of prisoner enactment of "safe" space!
bah!

oh woo woo... quote me a sea that didn't woo
a river into its basin of:
the challenge of horizon:
how does the water of the sea disparage itself
from the water of the river:
and: with those floating cauliflowers of
clouds... allow for the reign of rain
to come and give man of the land
the beauty of spring and the harvest of summer
and of autumn... and the melancholy of
the darkened nights of winter
where the libido is so frail?
Confession:
I'm not entirely a boy.
I'm in between genders right now.
Somewhere found in the cracks and crevices
underneath our ever crumbling binary.

A toss up between a proud queer girl,
and a fairy gay boy.
Yes sir,
But not a man.
Along the lines of
Prince and Princess,
Both King and Queen.

Don't call me a *** or **** -
Call me Genderfuck.
A concept you can't quite pinpoint,
At least it's an accurate depiction of your ignorance.

Genderpunk;
an identity wrapped up in style.
Androgyne -
A word that is not entirely girl
Not entirely boy,
But has elements of both.

I'm pushing away from women
when people put it on me.
It's dysphoric and uncomfortable.
So I run towards guy,
Phonetically and conceptually.

I want something other than human,
Not exactly person,
Alien, celestial or ethereal being
of which there is no words necessary.
Something...other.

But Agender rejects the concept entirely.
And I do not want to abandon the idea
that there is a word out there for me.
A community like me.

And before I hear any rhetoric about
having 'too many labels',
Let me just say:
If cats have taught me anything,
There is a huge difference between
Being put in a box,
And putting yourself in a box.

My ideal gender is something like feeling
part women, part dude -
not entirely male -
and part non-binary,
All simultaneously.

This may come as a surprise
But I do not deny my lady-like qualities.
I see strong, realistic female
representation
And I rejoice.
I feel part of that team.

I experience sexism and misogyny,
and I recognize how others perceive me;
as a girl.

Well in the context of a ******* girl relationship
Girlfriends doesn't seem that bad.
Being a butch lesbian,
or gay girl -
a feminine boy,
bisexual guy.
Though, I'm never a man.

Just something dancing along the edges,
Picking and choosing the flowers I am drawn to.
Ultimately something queer.

I want more access to words,
different types of non-binary,
A broader third category.
Six, Eleventh and,
Twentieth gender options.

Otherwise I'm caught gendering myself, always.
God or Goddess?
Mermaid or Merman?
Sure there's also merperson, merbabe,
godev, princev...

Referring to oneself - zeself?
As a magical being works.
Fae, Faerie,
Fae, Fem(me), Faer
pronouns would be cool
I just don't want to fully surrender
to being a girl.

Even though I know
there's no shame in it,
it still feels wrong,

It's misgendering
when I'm called "Miss" or "She".
I feel like crawling out if my skin
when I'm being forced into anything
womanly

Even though I have no
real quarrel with the concept.
I'm just uncomfortable with pronouns
and all the words around it.

I am anti-girl, negagirl,
the opposite of female
but not necessarily guy.
I am running away from cis-ness,
Cis-ciety.

And that's okay,
It's absolutely alright to feel this way.
The world told you what you were entirely
Based on your reproductive organs,
And doesn't that just sound a little funny?

Being trans doesn't have to mean
being at war with your body.
It doesn't mean you're born into a special group
A cool club, where others are barred access.

It means thinking critically
and wanting to redefine, redesign,
The way you are seen,
The way you see yourself,
and reclaim something
that was taken from you.

Folx, gender is fun.
It is fluid, and it changes,
it ages,
It starts to mean different things.

What you feel for now
doesn't have to be forever.
Move past the boundaries
others have set for you.

I encourage you to find your own
Trans doesn't have to be right
or wrong for you,
That's up to you to discover.
Just know you have options.

There's 7 billion people on this planet
So that's the possibility for 7 billion genders
And sexes.
Yes, that's a spectrum too.

***** and ***** are not the only thing
That defines you.
Think critically about the things
people have force fed you.

As for me,
I am a different breed of dude.
Not dad or father,
nor lady or daughter.

I fit with brother, guy, sir & gentlemen.
Call me fae, goth, punk, merhunk
and royalty.

Today I am a blank slate
A canvas I always have the potential to recreate.
Call me Damon.
That is my gender of the day.
- Jul 2016
I've been very vulnerable lately. I am vulnerable, and I'm not sure how to exist within it.

Well, see, society (what is it? It lives and breathes but is often undetected- like a cyborg) tells us that vulnerability = femininity, in order for both to mutually invalidate the other- because in a patriarchal society that feeds on myth, there is no room for either of them, as they provoke questions. But once you're out of the spectrum,  things begin to change.

I'm beginning to view patriarchal systems of oppression as post-apocalyptic worlds - something which, through my interest in science fiction, is important and familiar to me. It makes this life seem equal parts more bearable and more gruesome, because, on one hand, nothing seems real, but on the other, everything appears to be hyper-realistic and predictive of some sort of massive disaster. Oftentimes I'm not sure which to side with.

I'm also keeping a journal of things that I do to make myself feel better & gendering them as society would just to see what I'm like inside. It's interesting to see that I'm a mixture of gendered behaviors, but that pain itself is not gendered.

My trans friend says that's contradictory. He believes that society exists purely without gender, intrinsically, and that since we create gender for ourselves as a means of oppression, I shouldn't be trying to figure out how I relate within that system, but rather attempting to break out of it.

But, hey- better the devil you know than the devil you don't, right?
Thoughts
Jessi Ann May 2011
"I believe I am, my good sir, a noble beast and nothing more."
The words slip through my scabbed and scarring lips
lips feigning callousness, lips begging for benediction,
praying to be the passado,
beholden to the omniscient things that seem never to sleep
yet are always dreaming a dream
that I seem to be suspended in;
a syncopated nonsense of person,
ludicrous.

"I would not expect you to understand the nature of me."
And it is true;
I brace myself for the eventual
the inevitable
the unavoidable
the necessary and the fixed
misunderstanding
so that when he she it them they those
eyes me from across the table
peering over my coffee cup or my notebook
and says, "No, my dear, that is not it at all,"
I may smile
rather than rip my hair out
at the thought that I am now their "dear".

"I'm hurting."
Yes, I seem to live this life,
this half existence
floating between apathy and terror,
enveloped in some sort of dissonance;
some of the time I live
in this tangible thing--
others I am whisked away
by the very thought of thinking
and, to tell the truth,
I am so very tired.

"I'd be lying if I said I'm not a little bit angry."
A desperate creature I have turned out to be,
an animal grasping at the very straws of nature,
creeping,
moaning and murmuring sorrowful things
to the dark in which I began,
groping for light,
longing for some kind of motivation
that is not
"do or you will die."

"I am very gracefully falling apart."
This thing that is broken inside me
is it in my mind, in my brain, where?
Am I so very foolish to believe
that I was made for something
beautiful, clear, shining,
something with posture?
Yes, a proper fool I am,
but even fools need propriety sometimes.

"I am the bane of human existence."
Yes, but I am so much more as well,
and I have created an anthem:


I am the morning.
I have a feral passion locked away,
safe for my piano, safe for my lovers.
You cannot find me in books,
you cannot photograph what is in me,
you cannot steal it.
I am a mighty thing,
a thing of the sea, a thing of the earth,
a lovely thing.
I am righteous,
a divinity of my own,
a coarse deity of glass and stone
and I will not be ashamed.
The wars of this place rage on and on,
threatening to overwhelm,
bullying those who would refuse to roll over
but I am not afraid;
I shall be here at dawn
when all the world has washed away.
The Life I Built from the Closet is comfortable, I know what people expect from me.
The Life I Built from the Closet is black and white thinking.
The Life I Built from the Closet is pink and blue gendering parties.
The Life I Built from the Closet is church etiquette and weddings.
The Life I Built from the Closet is volunteering and church events.
The Life I Built from the Closet is getting used to the heteronormative narrative of romance.
The Life I Built from the Closet is high stakes walking into church and not actually being who I am. Because as a wise friend once told me you are who you are. I am a bisexual woman through and through.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2022
really? the 502 bad gateway pass is this, this low?
title: itchy
body: fun bit(s).... well no wonder H'america
is becoming a... *******!


for once in my life: i don't feel like writing,
mein gott: it has been for almost forever since
i felt like this...
i know that i can't love like a teenage boy,
i know that i can't love like a older boy in his
20s... for a while now i've been surprised
when women in the supermarket or in the street
tell their children: mind the man... the MAN...
wow... well... isn't that a shocker...
i'm a man all of a sudden... "all of a sudden"...
all it took was fitting the proper frame
and growing a beard: it would seem...
i remember this one Egyptian fwend in high-school
boasting that he had ****** hair at the age of
16 while i had ***-fluff...
he would scrape his stubble against a piece
of paper with what i supposed to be a hard-on
he'd later have to relieve in the bathroom
when one girl would lift up her skirt and expose
a little bit too much thigh...
then again... he also boasted about getting wet
dreams... don't know... i was ******* from
the age of 8...
but i seriously don't feel it in me to write...
i just want to talk to Jemma...
for once, in a long while... today's the 10th...
the 14th of February...
i'm actually thinking about dropping her a Valentine's
card... and... no... no roses...
i was thinking of yellow tulips,
then i looked into the whole affair... a potted plant...
bit like looking into the "logic" astrology...
or the zodiac... what's the meaning of
giving someone an orchid?
   ****... there are different meanings behind
what colour the orchid is?
white... no... yellow, no... red... now...
    blue... a blue orchid... left in the middle
of the night merging the 13th with the 14th of
February, so she wakes up and leaves the house
and... hey presto! there's an orchid outside
of her front door...
as much as i boast of having a heart of stone...
i'm ******* mush...
yeah... she's a single mum... she has a psychotic
disorder... she apparently beat her previous
             paartner... circa 20 years her junior...
so she's a mad, cougar...
but she's one of those dark ginger types...
petite...
             and when it comes to love... beggars can't
be choosers...
**** me... the butterflies are back...
just merely thinking about her...
i was supposed to meet her today... we rescheduled
for tomorrow... i'm so eager to give her
a bottle of my homemade wine...
and a self-baked banana loaf with walnuts...
i messaged her today: well i have this backlog of
washing to do...
i need to change the bed-sheets too...
it has been 3 weeks and i feel like i'm ***** when
i get up in the morning...
     for the thirst... sorry... for the first time in my life
i don't really feel like going
to the brothel...
around her i'm as silent as a grave, although still
retaining a casual conversation authority...
i'm working for this security company now
and... the girls are at it...
all of them are jealous of her...
****'s sake... like high school all over again...
since i started dating the tallest and the most popular
girl in school... i can't even begin to imagine
what the back-stabbing was like back then...
she's a mad cougar ***** with a 11 year boy in tow...
what am i doing?
what anyone infatuated does: beggars can't be
choosers... it's ******* silly but my entire
abdomen is screaming while cramped up
with those ******* butterflies: yes! yes! yes!
i'm getting paranoid with her since i don't know
what my position in the company is going to look
like... after the fact that she tried to get me fired
for insinuating that i might be drunk
on the job... well i do drink... but on the job
i'm all 20:20 vision hawk-eyed...
                  merely associating with her could land
me in deep water...
but i can't stop being loved up...
only a few days ago i asked to be paired up with her
doing a shift: Fulham vs. Millwall...
it was a treat... Millwall fans? rowdy lads... sure...
i don't know how they were in the stadium
while watching the match... but outside?
perfectly sensible creatures...
     one... who attained grandfather-hood on
the day said to me: oi oi! Adolf ******* ******...
you're not walking, you're marching...
what's with you and your hands behind your back?!
well... because i do march...
best to give off a sense of authority and look
intimidating than look sheepish and get into
scruffy ******* over minor things with football fans...
plus i was with a girl...
so... even she started to worry at some point...
when a bunch of them were leaving the stadium
and chanting... 'you're alright?'...
sure... why do you ask?
'oh, i was worried, because there were 20 of them
and only 1 of you, i know they wouldn't
do anything to me...'
sure... maybe i should be out looking for
some pretty 19 year old... childless...
        but i'm thinking...
                      she's 4 years my senior...
i die at the age of 79... i'll give her at least the 4 years
down the line to follow me...
plus there's the colt to think about...
how could i pass on shrapnel pieces of my consciousness
onto him...
how i managed to force myself as little as much
i don't know...
i'm already moving the conversation in the direction
of psychology: which she expressed an interest in -
i've taken a picture of the time
i wanted to bring round a mango chicken curry
for her and her son, with stone-baked flat breads...
oh well: read the caption as i gulped the curry down...
a picture of a friendship i have with my cat...
my foot showing with him sitting on the windowsill,
a picture of my books... stacked on shelves
from the floor to the ceiling, telling her:
the Romford public library only surprised me
with a copy of Thomas Mann's Doctor Faustus...
- of course she doesn't know she has met like for like...
obviously i haven't told her about my psychotic
breakdown when i was 21...
i mean, how do you say: and i went into a church
back in 2007... heard a choir singing hauntingly...
but no one was there, then i heard a great wind
disperse it?!
10 years down the line and i still haven't
recovered from the shock... that's why my 20s
are sort of... "missing"...
"lost" to philosophy books, to books on the topic
of psychiatry and being a recluse in general...
only come the age of 35 i rebounded finding
some hidden past of me...
being a people's person, extroverted to the best
of my ability... as a man...
- but my god, the girls have stagnated...
all this stereotypical talk about how girls are mature
than boys and that they mature much earlier...
BULL... ****...
utter and complete: *******...
no they don't, they just get worse!
they're ******* in that respect...
   maybe, just maybe... when they reach the age
of being considered grandmas... but even
then: i don't believe it...
they're backstabbing bickering *******!
   they all think they're in a ******* harem or something...
hey! Solomon! which one you're having
tonight?!
you know what i mean? which of the 1001 are going
to do lesbian **** flicks and use the *****
why the queen of Sheba gets your warm pulsating
**** up her oyster *****?!
i can't believe it... it's a ******* headache...
i didn't see / hear so much of this female-on-female
action in high-school... lucky me:
i was a chubby kid up to the age of 16
but then i lost a lot of weight and grew my hair long
and put it in a French braid from time to time
and still ignored the girls: until the most popular
one approached me...
what did i miss? oh... not much...
now, come to think of it: i'd wish i was a recluse
one more... seeing how female politics works...
i don't want to see it... prized ******* bull...
well yeah: "lucky me"... being a Taurus and all...
the single mums just: LINING UP to have a go...
cut my testicles off and call me Cindy
for all i care... since... these girls are past
their reproductive prime...
i'm not risking impregnating them to later
have to deal with a child with birth defects...
there's enough misery in this world for me to *******
add to it...
- what did i do today? the washing... changed the bed
sheets... drank a little... no wonder i'm feeling groovy...
and... watched: the Rise of the Planet of the Apes...
whether it's a remake or not... whatever...
the story of Caesar...
when he says: NO! and stops using sign language...
i ate an apple and a whole packet of grapes
while thinking about: the lost benefits of
being an ape, of having ape strength...
seems rather pointless...
after all... King Kong could beat the living **** out
of Godzilla...
eh? why did we evolve?
to make music? bird songs not enough?
     pay taxes?
            build roads in order to pointlessly commute
to pointless jobs?
well... security... crowd control...
i admit... you don't need a high score IQ...
to do... you just need to be able to read a crowd...
i call it "work" but after doing roofing...
after studying chemistry... it's work it's loitering it's
"work"... period...
if being polite and telling people good afternoon,
good evening have a safe journey home is work...
then i could be a porter at ******* Harrods...
sure... there are some gems in this profession...
skin-heads that giggle and shine like Down Syndrome
   constellations when seeing violence...
but then there's me...
ooh... juicy... i can use that: to write about it...
i don't mind crowd control...
i don't even mind the hooligans...
i am yet to receive ill treatment for being a...
the Millwall fans... what did they say?
traffic-cone... being a... ditto...
- that shift we done though.... finally! a girl that
likes rummaging with dates in
graveyards... she might be mad...
but like i told her, a quote from Charles Bukovski...
'some people never go mad...
what horrible lives they must lead...'
it was like a first date, i bought her coffee...
she got an extra free burger...
we sat on the bench... the moon was nigh...
a pristine night...
           i hope i can pull this off for as long as i can:
not revelling in my life-story...
but i already know that one of our coworkers
is an alcoholic - self-professed,
another self-harms: because she's a ****
and men look at her and think she's a man
while she sits in the car and fakes off
having a cold while in actual fact she's sad as hell
for being treated like a man and not a woman...
snotty girl... sure... **** her up and she'd almost
remind me of one of my exes...
the plight of women mis-gendering themselves
on purpose... to "fit in with the lads"...
but beneath all that veneer... a scared deer....
you sort of stop and wonder...
when will you stop?
well, if you won't stop...
i can already do all the things a housewife ought
to be capable of doing...
what now? do i cut your arms and legs off...
blind you... leave you as a reproductive torso
and a head like in that horror movie:
Bone Tomahawk?
what use, are the women, to men.... right now?
if i can cook a ******* curry...
what's tomorrow? Friday... fish day...
Pescetarian Day... well... i'm thinking of mushroom
noodles with salmon steaks... teriyaki style...
if i can clean the house by myself?
why would i need saber-tooth nails and a body
that i might only utilise to ****?!
that... most probably would be fickle about
the ******* bit?! pleazzzze.... snooze... endear me:
illuminate me! what's the point of a woman?!
well, i sort of know...
the presuppositions, the precursors,
the pre-emptive(s)... everything pre- pre- pre-, pre-:
before it even happens... the anticipation
dynamic ...there's never an "in it" modus operandi...
i'm only feeling what i'm feeling because
i'm anticipating something that... is being stalled...
point being... at some point she's going to stop
stalling, and i'll be like:
and now you've come to a realisation
that, i'm "somehow" worth it?
by then i'll be saying: o.k.: bye, buddy bye bye, bye...
that's how reality checks work...
they don't magically bounce away from debit
towards credit... it's either there: or it ain't...
now i know what it feels to be called by a woman
telling her child: mind the MAN...
so this is, what it feels like...
i can get used to this...
for the next 20 years being still in my prime...
i'm not waiting for something worse thn
death... i.e. old age...
i'm ******* off when the nearest and dearest
left to me are gone... i'm not waiting...
i'm ******* off this ******* carousel...
       i want to die when i still feel significant ...
given... no one bothers old people for wisdom these days...
what am i going to do?
spend the last days of my life
eroding my memory cinema with daytime
television quiz shows?!
    sure... sure... and if i enlarge one of my eyes
by dilating the size of it with my index
asking you: do you see a ******* tram going your way?!
will you say, yes?!
it's a free-for-all... no?

  euthanasia my ******* ***... i never heard so much
crock-of-**** in... well... maybe i'm reincarnated...
besides the point! i'm not hearing it here,
i'm not hearing it now...

    time's a sort of a public that doesn't
have the capacity to spend.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2020
now i just look at words:

          i sometimes want:
to describe what the tongue doesn't
need to prompt or cue -

mostly thanks for e. e. cummings...

it's so necessary to find this
metaphysical tongue
in my brain -
how it's a mundane thought:
nothing at all worth
morally questioning -

loitering in a status quo...
or -
        beginning a sentence
with a conjunction:
rather focusing on conjunctions
bilingually...

an hour prior i would really
focus on etymology and
nouns in bilingualism -

something prophetic had to
be excavated from argentina...
it's not like i don't like new
music... it's that there's so much
of it: listening alone
to it is unlike sharing it...

         notably IAH - III...

to: this
tamto: that
tam: there
           w - in
o - about
            even if english allows
i - ja
              or a - the indefinite article...
z - with...
          
what am i with my born
with tongue that...
unlike those who arrived
on these shores as *****...
in the loving embrace...
that they were born
in england...

              some made-up
propensity to teach
others from a native foundation:
because... the bilingual
is somehow less?

spew me canon fire of words...
mesmerize me!
no: clear vantage point for
exploitation...

a long winding crescendo...
a labour under the gravity of using
wings...
a completed dialectical question...
which never allows
a rhetorical answer...
as plato noted:
a mere yes or no...
for the inquirer is asking
a question to further his rhetorical
pursuit of inquiry...

classics... i should read up on
some Aeschylus...
i can't imagine south america
as an extension of spain...
i guess the conquistadors
really did **** with
the aztec and the mayan women...
i find south america as
unique...
devoid of spain's influence...
language alone is not enough...
spanish was never going
to be an undermined language...
it was never to be subverted
by either german or russian...

but this english litany:
how the new continent is still
having to mind inheritance...
how the inheritance "tax" is so...
suffocating and strait-jacket esque...
i can clearly see
argentina for argentina...
is hardly a whole lot to do with
spain being dragged into europe...
into the funnel...

    celt and prior
romans and prior...
  oh no... this is not a history lesson...
then the germans
then the slavs
then the huns the mongols the turks
the... turkmen etc.
this little crevice of land...
this sort of in between
of continental pride:
a place to build a ship and...
******* to new a greater pasture...
to adventure...
to a small island in the pacific...

i never have to think of brazil
as an extension
of portugal...
   even though their language is
so: base... same...
or mingle with argentina a spain...
but in the anglophonic realm...
tightly-knit community
of: 'just across the pond'...
pond: d'uh... the atlantic...

       you can't call it an english
or a spanish diaspora -
                  hardly...
                 i try to think back
and relate to my fellow language
proficiency exemplars...
what chains bind me:
that i am prior to self-first selfish...
my own owning my ownership...
before i am cannibalised
by a national identity...

            it must seem rather strange
to explore these avenues in this tongue...
cry! schizoid! tremors!
blah blah...
                 that i do find immovable
"pawns" in england...
people who will not... dare thread
crossing barriers with exception
to holidaying on some greek island
or... spain... of all places...
they are so intrinsically adamant
in not splitting their mind
with kneading the dough-for-a-tongue
of a second language...
well... i call them immovable "pawns"
rather than n.p.cs...
        
perhaps i would write in my native
zunge - perhaps i'd tease at some germanic:
alt vater albion to boot...
or scribble some cyrillic -
but then: who has that sort of keyboard
and this narrative is begging
for a fluency of time shortened...

         english has no diacritical marks
that i know... which allows speeding
up the process...
if i were to fiddle and playdough with
diacritical markers:
which venture in their idiosyncratic meaning:
stand-alone...
i would...
the english must have thought
they were the afghans of the ancient
world... that they would somehow
inherit latin without...

a german esses und zeds...
    or a french cedilla...
                        or an iberian ninyo...
                             ~ on top of an n...
they had to determine themselves as...
the failure of previous empires
was... their landlocked ergonomic of
spreading...
lend us the greek concept
of free-city-states!
let us use the seas!
the sun will never set!
insomnia barons and pauper maddened
toy kings...

it's  not like the intricacies
of two towing tonnes os tongue is
in anyway unbearble:

w tym - in this
  
but i find it's unnecessary to merely
focus on the disparagement of nouns...
i find red a bogus...
immediately constructed
into plural / masculine / the feminine...
it's never red alone...

czerń is black...
it's almost a verb when being presented
with red...
na czerwono: on red...
czerwony - red (masculine)
czerwona - red (feminine)...
czerwone  - red (feminine plural)
czerwoni - red (masculine plural)...

chechen renegades of post thunk -
the armenians reading into
an ottoman less lightly...

   look here: my prosthetic limb

red is an impasse in my native tongue...
it's like this anglophone
focus on "gender neutral" pronouns...
i can't seem to find...
a red is red...

or what's: back into english...
i read (once upon a time)
coupled with: i read (currently doing)...
there's... red and there's a reed...

what czerń allows is:
czarna, czarny... czarni, czarne...

czerwienić się: to blush...
but the colour red doesn't stand alone
to stress itself without
a "dismabigutation"
when loan grammatical tools
come to the fore...
and implore the "loss od detail"...

for this only one man
has to know two tongues...
and for that i am metaphorically schizoid...
sK-oid... voiding further
the sofa-esque mentality of people:
how i admire those people
with a knowledge of only one tongue...
or two or polyglot with
not dare reminder of
intricacies:
how they arrived at language
proficiency where everything is
either leftover or works just fine:
it's all reflexive and nothing... is ever auld
or odd...

ah... but...
czerwień is an adjective - an allusion to red...
from the burdens of a synonym cloud -
what was once: a bold
introspection... has become an alluded to...
a loan... a gimmick
a burgundy is a hue of red...
a deviation... how it teases
purple...
                 it's a quality... "esque"...
this native tongue of mine...
well... it can't escape gendering certain
words...

white is gender inclusive...
          all the colours are!
                  one has to find onself
a gangrene riddled dog barking up
the wrong tree...
when the anglophone debate over
gender neutral pronouns comes
to the fore:
this here the tornado:
i here, the butterfly...

           biały... biała...
"concern" for things...
well... you wouldn't say: biały rzecz (white thing)
you'd say biała rzecz

i imagine the birth of the concept of:
NOTHING to imply...
i have exhausted a desire for
etymology, for nouns...
for calling things concretely like
some geologists or chemist...
i'm here, socrates... borrowed for
glue and chewing gum and
the leftovers of conversation...

i.e. "thing" is the precursor generic
noun... nothing = nonoun...
something new... pronoun aside...
nothing for me implores:
gesticulating at nonoun -
Kant almost saw this coming
with his noumenon...

to talk without having to implore oneself
the details of seeing a feline marker...
because: that's what we already
do! a cat is a cat is not necessarily
a maine ****... or a siamese!
a dog is a dog isn't necessaarily
a cocker spaniel of a german shepherd!

a tree is a tree isn't necessarily an oak
or an acorn!
this cognitive construct could
only have been invented by the faculty
of memory: how best to filter,
throw a cipher into a bowl of
borrowing deciphers...
memory this formerly grand
cameo cinema that had to become
a fickle ontology... destined for a per se...

yet how i strain myself to
keep it on a leash...
after the acid bath of pedagogy and...
drilling into me the arithmetic of 2 + 2 = 4...
how i "wake"...
that i spell these words with
such adamancy...
is because i want to: i desire for them
to be strictly bound...
i could sooner slash my wrists than
allow myself to turn all sloppy...
lazily prone to heave: third party
slobbering leftovers of ****-towing-curd...

i will not lend my eyes to spell out
either greek or "proto" greek via cyrillic:
it's enough to know the CZ and CH
and this loitering demiurge
phoneticism: riddle a people with
enough mammon worship:
and sooner or later the pennies just
drag: extensive as to how
copper write was invented:
two feeble scots arguing over a penny...

for the nuance of a solitary reader...
had i the fortitude of a single tongue:
a well arrived at presentation
of a universal man...
i didn't have this blockages of
bilingualism:
it's not that i "somehow" find myself
obstructed:
there's this intilled:
reflexive: pronoun compound:
as there's this reflective: my self...

the ancient 'uns speak of a selb
to masquerade an imitation throw...
i dangle my arm and
pretend there's a stone in it..
i have to gladly arrive
at this sorrow for an ongoing praise
of pursuit per se:
i can't imagine chasing ****
was ever much fun to begin with...

but when it mattered and it must have
mattered...
i weaved a loneliness to the prusuit
of staging aloofness:
which married itself to... some german...
and lately had to revised:

jetzt: now...
           hier: here...
this teutonic beer hall:
tam-da-ra-day...
       sing-along...
                          
               limbo wording when finding
awkward "squares":
the geocentric model and the loath
of patriarchy...
the heliocentric model and
the ****** crisp queen
of gynocentrism...

  today i tried to figure out
how a siamese twin could ever
overcome a sstatus symbol
of herr cain... serial killer....
i couldn't: but the image struck me as...
somewhat... belitteling and...
"sincere"...
           how impossible it was...
to ever find... a siamese killer...
beside the serial stressor...

chances are:
if i were not "culturally appropriating"
this english...
if i had questionable insight
into an antithesis of all is well:
western cosmopolitan...
french of service! please amore!

if this wasn't a shadow
of ol' *****: risky...
                risque?
  esque...
               russian: pax varshava...
              such that the sun never itches
to sleep....
aeschylus is to be mourned...
wait 2000+ years from now...
this will translate
into a paragraph of... less conjunctions
and more... punctuation markers...
i hope the diacritical marks still
retain their stature...

i speak two languages
yet it's a burden for 6 o 7...
i only speak two languages...
yet it's a "burden" that would gladly make
an affair of a dozen "creases"...
have... astounding pressure
being met with:
economical proficiency being...
exacted: as therefore stressed...

for the worth of a night arrived at...
i have to spare you...
endearing prospect of a reader..
my limit...
petting cats i fathomed inately...
for the better half of my exposed
self: churned into ***...
i was an amateaur at...

here's to me ******* a headless chicken:
trans-spaecian misinformed "..."
additionally curses never
to revise a 1950s h'american
nostalgia pillow credo...

  sleep tight sleep tired...
my most bothersome lacklustre additive
of spike and crescendo lobough'
tammy... and a led zeppelin's play
on hay-maker... with a jive of:
jai... tell me the difference...
between jai and jay...
i'm dying to know!
i'm so pristine raw and ignoble
to have to... concern myself
with these overshoots of...
why i didn't happenstance
a life... and the end result was always
to be... a riddle of walking...
employing
a pretend walking stick...
a ball and a hole...

i was blindly 'ere... scouting
for rabbits and deer
and grouse... i was 'ere limping for
a wolf to wrestle with:
i was 'ere for the gnashing of teeth!
i was never 'ere for a leisure...
a praying for comfort,
for happiness...
   i need this uncertainity pulpit:
zenith.. this long reserved crease...
like it might be: tied into a butterfly
or a "bow".
jeffrey conyers Sep 2019
I gave you love.
What if?
I took it back with the snap of my fingers.

I have blessed you in ways yet to be known or seen.
And all many of you upon the earth.
Is trying to be me.

It's not your life that you putting your two cents into.
If you honestly admit this truth.
You get upset too.

So they going what many think is the norms?
Just remember the first emotion that touches you is the creation of love.
So their gendering of loving one another have you enraged.

Ask yourself why?
Cause this what many loves to say?
It's against God law.

I didn't write it.
I just dictated it.
And you can best believe many still interpreting it.
Creating hate and conflicts.

Similar to many decision I see you can best believe.
If love or war was put up for a vote?
War, would win.

Look at those that champion many things in scriptures?
Died at the people decisions.

This a poem called message for many.
Let whoever love one another?
Simply be in love with each other.

— The End —