Selected poems

trigger warning: discussions of depression, menstruation, pregnancy, sex, kink, dysphoria

because i’ve been told my poetry is good

depression

you would think I’d know better
but as anxiety confuses panic with clarity
I find only emptiness in the search for explanations.

depression is unread messages sitting for days in my inbox
taunting
haunting
ghosts of my good intentions, my healthier self
which cries for me even as I cannot
is oh, just one more hour
spent chasing
away the pain, physical memories of inadequacy
if I do nothing,
there is nothing to fear
is absence, is what is left when
the overwhelming abyss of responsibility
yawns
and I drown, and there may not be anything
pulling me back
depression is deep shame
and I am ashamed.

tears

tears on my face slide glide
hands
lips
(lips)
show, don’t tell, but i can’t assume
unsaid ‘i love you’
consumes me fuel i am on
fire burning tears
like kindling i am the
fire burn myself out
on my chest pool
cup twist pinch
make me scream till i run out of air
when i wake up, will you still be there?
forced back in
they don’t want your truth unless they can fix you
show me, tell me
crying
is cathartic so why do i
deny myself pleasure
hold me kiss me love me
(love me)
you taste like my tears

mis(s)take

do not mistake the way i dress for a gender.
i like to wear skirts and scarves, lipsticks, slender
trousers and baggy flannel shirts. to assign me
to a binary based on this would be to malign me

do not mistake my bluntness for masculinity.
i strive for honesty so as not to cause harm. to be
a man would give me a guide for how to transition,
a yellow brick road to follow, but i am not in that position

do not mistake my legal documents for my identity.
are we not all more than words on a page, our legacy
the hearts we touch, the good we do, not simply
two chromosomes and a letter plucked from children’s ABCs?

do not mistake my prettiness for femininity.
my soft thighs, my breasts, are not a woman’s. you see
my curves, my peaks, my valleys, and the fact that i bleed
monthly, and you look at me and call me “she”

period

menstruate

men struate

the argument that women are stronger than
men because of their hormonal cycles
is outdated and transphobic

i’m not fucking strong, my
uterus feels as thought it’s eating itself

maybe this is why i’m kinky, because i want to
divorce sex from reproduction, because the possibility of my
body creating another brings me intense dysphoria

and the thought of perpetuating the cycle of
abuse onto and through a child of mine HURTS

parent

rent

torn

i am torn

in many ways i think i should be a parent

i’ve thought about it, how to be ethical and
educational without pushing an agenda

but then there’s the dysphoria,
mental illnesses,
guilt,
fear

is it unethical to bring another human being into the
world when they cannot consent? is it another
abuse?

abuse

use

and so if my uterus has no use, then why should i
have one? why is it ethical that i should have the
ability to create life, to bear life, when
i don’t want it and when
others who want to can’t?

uterus

vagina

vulva

cunt

pussy

and like a cat, i only want affection on my terms

wind

wind, merciless bully
freezes sweat into numbness
pressing into, against, invasive
air propelled, directed
it’s only air, they said, but those words
picked me up and
slammed me against my self esteem
superglue cracks when it dries

generic love poem

you leave me
again
your arms a blanket snatched away
wake up
being grown up is not about being cosy
want
not sex, sex is good, but when
you hold me
(again)
time is a fallacy, falling asleep to your
breaths, in; out
your hair in my mouth tastes
like cinnamon, soft
i miss you
but then
deserving something doesn’t mean we always get to keep it