I swim where it bites my family atop the back joined by a mass of people each person holding a rope ropes twisted in knots leading to the head the people pull the ropes steering the ancient relic wrought using the swords rusted by once oxygen rich blood endless iron
like a sailor caught at sea boys cannot save themselves from the patriarchy women must we see through the fog because of our vantage point our experience despite knowing we are the lighthouse we may look to the tower we yearn as we look inward beyond our heart deeper a
I was a child, I was home my sister and her friends playing made up things more real than reality you can hold a book you cannot hold a word crawling under the large pine tree we entered our house our school room our little shop goofing off for hours
I was a little girl when patriarchy told me to be a boy girls obey like a precision cookie cutter the role is well defined girls conform I read the script played the role and put the costume on girls are invisible I loved the patriarchy I knew no other
I'm wearing my pink sports bra and pinker girl shorts graceful legs my CrossFit on display I love my body I love my skin I would not wear this if I still clung to the men saying— cover up you are causing me to sin to those men
while dropping off our son to the person in between she spoke the sweet texture of her voice fingers placed softly against the wall wondering down the hall her voice fingers press against my lips they strum at my heart a color not felt in years first tasted at 16
is not the tight pants the patch of skin the crop top the two piece the belly the breast the vulva the cleavage is the fear the shame the atonement the forgiveness the purity the virginity the patriarchy electrodes quietly programming boys’ minds into lust and girls into submission
he sits generations of dust mix as he rocks parents smile placing their children upon his lap his sagging breasts suckling all ages rhythmic rocking keeping them soothed while the wood creaks out music
a friend recounting her childhood trauma closes with a familiar scripture they didn't know any better the author of sin smiles these words keep him safe our heavenly father he gives us fear he gives us shame the trauma giver obeys the Father forever turning the children to
lately our son wishes time would never stop blocking the door out holding onto my leg telling me no I desire these transitions be happy times too an hour before she will come I start prepping him would you like to make a craft for your older brothers? no! we
efficiency profitability conformity 1830AD
the body I have the body I work with I mirror what's inside to be recognized I take pills I pluck hair I wear accessories I have chest and hip growth I endure surgery after deliberate effort I enter your office flower patterned crop top deep red lipstick
I swim where it bites my family atop the back joined by a mass of people each person holding a rope ropes twisted in knots leading to the head the people pull the ropes steering the ancient relic wrought using the swords rusted by once oxygen rich blood endless iron
I've stopped being what I imagine my family wants me to be now they hunt me I'm a transgender mother with a three-year-old son it's not safe a shadow of doubt is stronger than facts truer than truth DCFS waits at my door the
why must I visit the graveyard so often the place my nightmares live headstones in crooked rows marking the soil where my hope bleeds I visit in pain I visit in regret I visit in slow retrace why do I keep coming back? what do I want to find? the
reduced to an object because I'm a girl a rose a board a cupcake a piece of gum something for others to manipulate to consume to display to value an adornment for the priesthood from youth to wife to death bed dangling purity at the arms of men