"tranny" poems
Dysphoria, what does it feel like?
They sigh, trying to find a single sentence for years of caged silence.
Identity: Female
Stuck in the wrong way
To me it’s a sense of nothing will ever be right
The feeling of being in extreme danger
Like you’re about to die
Identity: Male
All I can say is
This isn’t me
The feeling is a long and windy explanation of
Disassociation
There are things about me that I don’t associate with myself
And it’s weird and confusing
When I become aware of them
Identity: **** A drag queen? Trans fluid.
Dysphoria...
It's a lot like,
Anger,
Betrayal,
An itch
Like a really itchy sweater,
You can’t take it off
And the longer you have to wear it the worse it gets
You start to hate yourself because
You’re the one that put the sweater on in the first place
They say we are ill
Broken
******
***
“Butch”
It’s not correct
When they say it’s their right to say those
That’s when I get mad
If there is no way to make the mind conform to the body
You must make the body conform to the mind
If they think it’s their right to tell other people that their identity is wrong,
Then they are ill and broken
They have no f**king clue
And I know,
I can’t tell them they’re wrong
Without telling them why
But I realize
Explaining this is futile
With closed minded people
Bathrooms need to change, Health care needs to change, Identification needs to change
People are forced to “pick one”
Trans-phobia shouldn’t be tolerated
Mental health care shouldn’t be because it’s a “defect”
Social pressure, Internalized oppression, Abuse,
Shouldn’t
Be
Tolerated
Politicians have got it the wrong way around
One in two transgender persons have experienced ****** assault
One. In. Two.
They say, “We don’t want men undercover spying on our women and children”
You think they are in there to spy or ****
Name more than two cases in the last 25 years
Where a transgender person has sexually abused a woman in the ladies bathroom
You can’t
But give me five minutes, and I can come up with five to eight names of transgender people
That have been assaulted in bathrooms since 2019 started
But our Pride cannot be destroyed
It’s our strength
A feeling of belonging
A belief that we can change this
We are not alone.
We Are Not Alone.
YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 5:27 PM UTC
****** boy, ****** boy
You're playing with the wrong toy
That truck is only for the boys
Lost girl, Lost girl
Put on a pink dress, spin around and twirl
That's what you're supposed to do
****** boy and Lost girl
They're one person, their life is unfurled
A hell washed over hir and now hir head's underwater
H. I. R.
Not a her or he clearly
And I want to just scream, no
But ****** boy put down that toy
Lost girl, go put on that dress and twirl
My mind says trucks and mud
But the bigger people say to twirl
And so I twirl
Around this world, placing my feet on the continents
Singing to the oceans as I glide on top of them
And so I twirl..
But maybe I want to watch while my daddy's fixing our car
And maybe I don't twirl the way all the girls do
Maybe I have a rougher, less eloquent twirl
But Maybe I want to listen as my brother's talking football plays
And maybe I don't have the brightest, girliest smile
Maybe I've got one only fit for a boy
Maybe I want to play with trucks until the sun hides
Maybe I want to be the quarterback on the field
Maybe... I want to make cities in the sand box
Maybe it's because... I am a boy.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
It's Grandad's birthday coming up
He says he wants a ******
To entertain him in the bath tub-
Better not tell Granny
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 12:17 PM UTC
The Wall Walker
and smooth talker
he, being a ticked off ****** with a knife,
is mostly mole faced
but with an incredible grasp on spacial relations
mysterious mister stalking the barfly's and time flys
endangering a species just for ***** and giggles
the great google hooligans pace rapidly
back and
frothy beer
drowned down by the river kawaii
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 9:36 AM UTC
Dear Alyssa,
I am trying to say your name, but it is so foreign to me I cannot believe I once called it my own. It is stiff and uncomfortable, and sticky and sad. I cringe every time I hear it, it was never my home.
But I will never not envy the fact that our mother handcrafted it for you while Avery was never touched by her beauty. When you think beauty, I know the only thing you think of is Montana Walker. The girl in your English class with the freckle by her smile who plays chess with you at lunch. But when your father thinks beauty, Alyssa is still his first thought.
Dear Alyssa,
When you were in sixth grade, you dreamt about me. I wore a pullover hoodie and a backwards hat with one arm slung around Montana's shoulders. You were afraid to touch her, but me, I wasn't intimidated by her. She was quiet and tall, I was taller and loud, my chest was open and breathed proud. You never believed you would get there, and you aren't. I am miles away from loud. I am unable to speak up for you. Even when I was called a ****** my first day of public high school. Even when I was called a ******* ****** *** **** by a member of our own community, someone who shares so much of our journey. I didn't speak up for you or me. I'm sorry.
Dear Alyssa,
I'm sorry I tried to tear you open to see if I was hiding underneath. I'm sorry. I was not underneath. This is no woman's body because it belongs to me. I was not underneath.
Dear Alyssa,
Mom and dad are right. You are beauty. You are pretty and feminine and sweet. Alyssa, you are the prettiest boy you'll ever meet, because frankly, there is no girl I used to be. We are inherently male because we are supposed to be.
**** biology.
**** transphobic members of the LGBT community.
**** that at 15, you've reached half a trans* person's life expectancy.
**** that you will never be allowed to join the military.
**** the life that they want you to lead.
You are me.
You are the boy I used to be.
Dear Alyssa,
I'm sorry.
Sincerely yours
P.S. I should've loved you more.
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 12:46 AM UTC
She left me on a Tuesday and I was drunk for 18 days straight. I couldn’t differ from morning, day or night. The night was young I’d had spent my last 100 bucks on a ******* from a ****** down on Hollywood boulevard. God **** it was the best I had ever had.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
I'm not a real girl, just a ******
Cis boys don't like me
Unless they chase, but I'm no bait.
Unless you let me
Whip it out and look in your eyes.
Unless you stare
Back with fire skipping my life.
But I'm
Not a real girl
Just a ******
I'm missing a hole
If that's what keeps
Me unseen, then
Bae,
I don't need
Your world
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 4:24 PM UTC
we stood in our scarlet, costco bought handmaiden costumes
wordlessly taking a stand
because words matter
it is a stoic thing
to make history
kamala harris
wisely having her moment
so far, the height of her career
then we re-enacted various episodes
of House of Cards
all in front of Judiciary Committee
afterwards, we were given some money.
before going home to watch netflix, we had to educate the world
on the language they are and are not allowed to use,
because we need to control the world's vocabulary
especially since so many people are tranny-phobes
and we still think the term "hateful bigot" holds power.
thank god for the 25th amendment,
there is no way in hell that we will lose another election,
but if we do, we can always fall back on 25A.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 12:41 PM UTC
As fridge-rator to beer in the head between the ears adorned with flashy widgets with which to trap the hoes he hopes that he can pull into his poles. His gravity whips wide so hands find and feel up erthing that gots the tail, he wants to rail so hands out he walks and tilts to one side and back holding his glass. Two fingers limp around the rim, dipping his fingertips into the juice like he wants to dip into you, pinkies as he holds your head forcing you to **** like you want his come as much as he wants to come. Then when done zips up, runs out, ***** sayonara", switch rerun mode without emotion. He floatin. He floatin. He gloatin.
Head on the couch back making tired, one eye open scoping everyone's glow as they move, when up he comes sittin in my face, spittin what he thinks I want him to say, I'm like, **** guy control that tongue, you spray like that always I'm afraid I won't take that wild **** as tool is to you as to yo ***** Right ******* ****** spittin harder in the lean up perhaps the lead up to fist flung to react. "Man you too loose, I gotta tell you, I've got just what you do." "Your uh ****** Man watch ya flavor of language, I got just enough ****** left to get hard and stomp you, heel first in boots bought to stomp, pre-emptive to deal with the bullwhip effect where first you droolin to **** me, then retract like a bowstring because my ***** resembles a **** "What you want, ***** You wan **** this **** for real?" (For real?) He floatin. He floatin. He floatin the room, he ghosting.
Lick my lips, cept it's not a tongue. For this purpose it's strobe lights, in light show, and like snow, black and white between sheets of plastic TV screen on get settled into my flow, rip back and forth like prongs on a fork on your ******* blindfolded and scolded right angle, bent like an L-shape repenting for **** by taking the ****** flash cards, held up on headboards, trying to teach you metrics and standards lacking in you to tune you into the lifestream, no empathy and no tact to show, remember this hell well while you sail through life preying, I'm praying and making marks in meat coats. But he floatin. He floatin. He gloatin.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
They were like two peas in a pod
Holding hands
Exchanging tongues
Being prissy and laughing at those
Who long before saw their act
Though those two queers, they don’t see at all
They are midgets, and little, and erectly small
With puffed up chests
Stroking hens of the Cornish variety
All of them dregs of a social society
Slum lords and criminal minds
Under the sheets where no one sees
Which one is giving the other the shaft
**** and span they use after, oh so daft
One erotically whispered to the other
A Pain in the ***
As they kissed over their biblical wine glass
Seeking solace in each others arms
Licking their wounds with grammars charm
Grown men, committing sin after sin
Then blaming others for saying
God wants you to begin
Acting like men
And not emancipated boys
Stop diddling and twiddling
Leave alone your petite toys
One day Jehovah will make clear
Belittle others is worse than Queer
Little queens swallowing their own vile
While Ladies and Gentleman laugh
At the ****** and the Clown
In their lingerie and gown
God decried, let those two drown
Even Lucifer laughed under his frown
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 10:48 PM UTC
Dear, Pa –
it’s your once-son
Danny – or better known
as Sandy, or Annie or;
Ann-Marie and to some
folks on 19th Street,
I’m known as a sinner, a ******
My life is a movie, like
a catwalk model; and
I play a very special person, who’s got
no-one to lean on, no mommy to hold, and;
Wait, I know her. She’s familiar to me like,
I’ve known her since the beginning of time, but
right now, in physical form, she stands
in front of me in the;
mirror, Pa. Yes, I am her reflection, no
I mean she’s my reflection and I realize
that; all along, this whole time, I told myself
a big-fat lie; as a child, hatred and anger
were the tears I cried. So –
this one’s for you, my king,
my liege; this one’s the promise
that we’ll keep; this one’s the bond
between our sheets; but this one’s the
one that’ll point at you; before I lift
the middle one, to say, ***** You!”
But hey, Pa – here I am. A
woman, not a man. A bonafide,
sophisticated lady in minx
with, real diamond earrings and
fierce wings; those nails, my nose
and my lips – make me feel like I’ve
power at my fingertips.
Tonight is my show – it’s my time
to shine. And I’m going to **** it
like I know I can – so thank you Pa,
and thank you, ma’am. For giving
me the strength to be who I am.
Feb 10, 2021
Feb 10, 2021 at 7:13 PM UTC
She got a drive from her mother
and culture from her father,
but when you mix the two
together, what comes out
is a snobby little ****
with a bleeding heart and a
nervous disposition.
She'd rather paddle-boat across
the Atlantic Ocean than be
in a room alone with God's Adam
for one second.
A shark is a welcomed death
compared to one excused
trip to the bathroom.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 1:33 AM UTC
Fourteen years old
and my life was a trap -
My ankle was caught
All red and ragged
In the jaws of an age-old machine
Designed to catch boys.
But there was a missing cog –
a little *****
because there was a way,
(There was a way)
There was a way
to
get away…
College Library,
Domed and dark,
The silence disturbed by a bluebottle’s
Rumble
And the sly ticking of my own gold watch.
Oh! Getting high on the smell of
Other people’s universes,
Tissue thin and
Dogeared immortal -
Gotcha!
I’ve got 'em all!
You can’t contain me in these walls,
I can go an – y -where.
I can get drunk on Holden’s Highballs
Or Sebastian’s brandy,
I can weep at the grave of Ignatius Riley’s
Sexually inappropriate wank-fantasy dog,
I can neatly eat Prufrock’s peach
Or a dismal breakfast in a seaside caff
With Dallow and Spicer
And dear Rosaried Rose
With one eye on the sea and
Some lukewarm tea.
I can spend a season with my namesake,
Far away from Heaven,
And shake hands with Satan as he
Finishes a speech,
Wiping his mouth on a swollen
rock,
Hot as heaven and black as a leech.
I can walk that sheep on B612,
I can whip around the Second Circle
Of Hell
Or lock myself in a toilet
With Franny,
I can live in a garret with a garrulous ****** -
I can be East of Eden,
Wonderland,
I can die in Venice,
I can shoot soldiers in the sand,
I can lust after Lo – lee – ta
Tip of the tongue,
I can be a girl,
I can be a nun,
Blow into a conch,
Diffuse a bomb,
Digest my lunch,
Be a sub,
Be a dom,
I can sparkle here,
I can be free here,
I can just be here
And there are no rules here,
Just one boy
And a book
And a bluebottle
And a watch.
Aw dear -
What a flawed design for a cage!
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
Growing up, you wanted to be a princess. But you wanted to be your own hero. Insisting all you needed was a bit of love
They say, "No, a princess cannot wear a crown and suit"
Handed dolls, cars taken away
They say, "Oh, that's so gay!"
They say, "Hey, ******
They say, "What a ***
They say to grow up. Be a lady. Get some manners; grow a pair
But then you do, and they stare. Bonded with tape; compressed, hidden away from sight
Zachary,
Tucked away in your pocket. Except that pocket is your skin, your bones
They say
If you are one of us, then do this. But you cannot. There is not enough testosterone; not enough muscle
So they laugh. Say you are weak, and a liar
They say
This is a phase. You will regret it. It is simply not possible
Zachary does not exist. He is not real. You are just young
You do not know
You are a female. Despite your protests, they insist anyway
They say, "Have you seen it? Is it a boy or a girl? Is it gay or straight? It's an it. An it. It's a monster."
They say, "I bet I can make you straight" with their glint in their eyes, that have already lowered you, to that of dirt. And then, when you get hurt, it's your fault. For tempting them, for being yourself, not
theirs
They say
You are nothing
They say
You will get hurt. And they are right They do not lie, but they are dishonest
Whispers pass you. Pointing from children, and mothers shielding their eyes
"Don't look at that, it'll make you sick"
Adults of authority, giggling and taunting
Hushing each other, to no avail
Putting you in classes where you don't belong
Making you cry, when they do not listen
The urge to scream, "I am human, too. I deserve comfort"
Anxious to speak up, fear of being dismissed
People misgender you
Call you a girl, if you are a boy
And vise versa
Call you sir or ma'am, when you are neither, or both
You are afraid to speak up. Say, "No, that is not me"
Parents who don't understand. They all begin that way
Not believing, and blaming themselves
Educate them
Zachary is here, standing on his toes
Wishing,
To be seen
To be acknowledged
No longer a scab you feel the urge to pick;
No longer skin you feel the urge to tear
Zachary is here
He has always been here
He is not an it
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
Ronald McDonald sold his business
To his rival hungry jacks
Got alot of money from them
All his staff got the sack.
He drove to the country
And brought a nice farm
With a big house
Villas, animals and barns.
Grimace was feeding the pigs
Birdie is in a nest
Hamburglar is chasing cows
And being a ****** pest.
Ronald came out with a whip
And yelled at the striped fool
Got his whip ready
With a mouthful of drool.
He then chased after Hamburglar
And the ******** thought it was a game
Making ****** like noises
Skipping, and being insane.
No more burgers for you
Ronald yelled out loud
I think You may have Mad Cows Disease
And you are as high as a cloud.
Grimace runs over
And blocked Hamburglars way
He smashes into Grimace
Knocking him out for the rest of the day.
When he woke up
All his friends were there
Hamburglar said, what the **** happened?
Ronald replied, you were sick, and gave us a scare.
But, don't worry now
You have been cured from this disease
So, can I ask you?
To stop stealing my home made burgers please.
Hamburglar agreed
With his fingers crossed behind his back
Thinking, **** off clown!
Your burgers are better than Hungry Jacks!!
Tommy K - 12/02/2014
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 10:19 AM UTC
ONE
WHO THE **** SAYS ****** WHAT THE **** IS WRONG WITH YOU
TWO
"SQUIRRELS"IS MY DAD'S "LESS OFFENSIVE" TERM TO DESCRIBE ******* AFTER I CAME OUT IN 7TH GRADE
THREE
I WILL NEVER FORGIVE MYSELF FOR CHOOSING ALCOHOL OVER MY RELATIONSHIP
MY MOM SAYS I AM MY FATHER'S SPITTING IMAGE
FOUR
MY MOM SAYS I AM MY FATHER'S SPITTING IMAGE
i think that says enough
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 1:24 AM UTC
Like...it feels like whole world and the, you know, uh...all the smily candy teeth and stoned-out-of-their-mind ******* with their lip service to some techno-God of...what? Acceptance and power dynamics, or empowerment or whatever... It's like they're out there building these monoliths to themselves...like, mirrors made out of diamonds that's all positivity and critical theories and **** even Heidegger or Nietzsche thrown in there, Foucault, Lorde sometimes, a lot of other names, too...so much to remember when you wade into the world of identity, right? But it's also so sugary that I get a headache, like, when I see the steel roots that they're...repurposing? I keep tripping over them and stuff, I dunno.
Queer's a word I hear mostly coming out of only my own mouth, maybe the walls...if wall's could talk, right?...and that really tells me a lot, I guess? About what it means to be a *** but like, not really? And how I'm totally not trans? I mean I'm still BASICALLY a boy, right? Like shouldn't I be like, calling myself a girl if I'm not a boy, etc.? The stony monuments to Liberation...they're using the big L right?...tell me so. I'm so close but still not good enough, or something like that. The binaries are there for a reason, etc. Not even that. Just a quiet, like...exclusion? Joke? What I wouldn't give to be a fully-fledged ****** or a true ****** y'know?...card-carrying member of the conference, where I can actually cry and my voice comes out in something other than a croak and people look at my tears and hear my words and say, Yes, that's real and that's okay?
Whatever though. I'm probably wrong anyway, right? I'm just half-baked, or not exactly full, or...what's the word?
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 10:05 PM UTC
1) : No Animal poems
2) : No Extreme poems
3) : No Old whatsoever poems
4) : No *** poems
5) : No ****** poems
6) : No Casandra complex poems
7) : No Celebs poems No wait thats OK!
8) : No ******* poems
9) : No Disambiguation poems.
10) :No go **** yourself poems
11): No **** me poems
12): No *** poems
13): No love poems
14): No hate poems
15): No nature poems
16): No political poems
17) No happy poems
18) No ****** poems
19) No poems about body functions
20) No funny poems
21) No honey poems
22) No poems about, AI malfunctions
23) No poems about no poems ;)
..................
*just refine
yourself
out of
*******
existence
poems*
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 2:15 PM UTC
I.
No one writes poetry about you. You are
an enigma, you are an enigma of unreality and
displeasing angles, too many
bones inside a shell covered with marks you
put there yourself on the best of days on the
worst of days the days you
can't remember.
II.
You watched a Swedish film once called
"Boys" and you think about it often because when
they said the word "homosexual" it was subtitled as
****** and when they said the word "transgender", the subtitles
said "tranny". You are like those subtitles
in your own head, over and
over.
III.
You'll make a film someday and you will
yell the word ****** from an overpass, and you preface it
with "I am a", and you will make it
poetry.
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 12:42 AM UTC
And I get that pretty often
Kids call me ‘boy’ ‘mister’ ‘sir’ and it makes me happy
but no no they gotta be corrected
“no honey that’s a girl”
‘girl’ ‘missus’ ‘ma’am’ and no
no I’m a boy
I wanna yell that but I won’t
I can yell that but I don’t
because that’s social suicide
and the gay word freaks people out
**** **** *** butch
that freaks people out
never mind the trans* word
c’mon say it so I can hear!
****** queer, *******
you name it I’ve heard it
I’ve heard it towards me
I’m a boy
B-O-Y BOY
put that away
put your trans*phobia away
I CAN SEE IT
I CAN HEAR YOU YELLING IT
are you gonna say it to my face
or are you gonna pretend I don’t hear you
I’M A BOY
B
O
Y
and if you don’t like it
well I don’t want ya here
So next time
before you correct your kids
ask me
“are you a girl or a boy?”
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 1:53 PM UTC
.*the joke reign being: ****** doing the jazz hands worth of clapping... like smith 'n' butch doing a: manicure with jellyfish attempting to usurp paralysis... like a ****** faking jazz hands... mind you: canned laughter always left an eerie impression on me... and i didn't even have to laugh... but a ****** over-exemplifying "her" hands? well... they're not exactly petite, geisha curiosities, worth the fragility of spring to be made comparison of!*
when a ****** over-exfoliates
the use of her hands....
i once mentioned:
the most ****** aspect
of a woman
are her hands...
so when a ****** over-exfoliated
"her" use of the hands...
never a "missing" ****
in war,
whether man, woman,
or... animal....
size...
the hands:
do not lie...
whatever lie there ever
was to be ingested...
like: words were food...
to distinguish them:
a vowel is pure fat,
and a consonant was:
slow burn sugar,
i.e. a carbohydrate...
but i can be made acute,
aware,
how a ****** is
the antithesis
of both heterosexual
& homosexual love...
it is neither...
it's an added curiosity...
a niqab-take
on ***
i sometimes
wonder...
jerking off...
am i looking
at the cleft of
a buttocks of a woman,
or the cleck of a woman's
*******
they... seem so well
pair... and undifferentiable...
i can't seem to tell
the difference!
back in the day
when marylin mason
was
all gag and hardly
any gay...
but you can tell
a ****** from a woman...
however many hormone
blockers...
bones do not lie...
hands...
the size of hands...
like some joke goes:
and if i removed one
tier of my ribs from my body,
i too, wouldn't
have to leave the house
for a *******
my same misery
story... concerning the selling
& buying of vinyl...
hands though...
i'm trying to bind myself
to either braille or
sign...
in deciphering
the ***********
like it's a ****** scenario
to not read this as:
just shy of Ypres.
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 10:56 PM UTC
Garage: A keeper and protector of things past and present. A time capsule for future generations.
Rows of expired license plates, tacked to the wall as a memorial to cars long since traded in.
Matching bicycles, hanging on hooks from the ceiling, together
have less total miles than last year’s Boston Marathon runner-up.
The obligatory 4 x 8 sheet of pegboard, with brackets for tools bought just to fill up the space. Only a few, borrowed by neighbors years ago, are missing.
A lawn mower, and a half-full, red gas can, tucked neatly in the corner.
Brown five-gallon plastic buckets, filled with rock salt, oil dry, golf ***** and the remnants of a spilled bag of bird seed.
Garbage cans, resting up for the weekly trip to the end of the drive. One is for recycling.
A snow shovel, a ***** and a *** guard the front corner in back of the garbage cans. The garden was at the first house.
A plastic Wal-Mart storage cabinet, locked shut by spider webs and two old spare tires stacked in front of it.
On the bottom shelf, should anyone care to look, are a number of one-gallon paint cans, left by the previous owner, twelve years ago. The brushes, rigor mortis having set in to the bristles, are hanging on the 4 x 8 sheet of pegboard.
Martin:
Stuff on the walls
Stuff on the floor
Hanging from rafters
No room for more
Kim:
Children's playthings long forgotten
Planks of wood almost rotten
Not a car in sight nor much light
It's a dank dark memory dungeon!
Thomas P. Owens, Sr.:
The old Dodge Dart there
long in need of a ******
back and forth to the A&P;
once a week by my Granny
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 5:18 PM UTC
Getting in cat fights at the ****** bars
Wearing torn dresses and too fast alarms melody the howls and loose rhythms of heartaches sighs for lost men lost back to their valley bleached wives
Debbie slings her eyes @ detroit who stumbles through time unwanted and adored the door shakes the elevators escaped the beat drapes the gowns and nets and smokey dreams curl around everything... Here have a drink of me
Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 1:26 PM UTC