#trans

11 poems

gender.app

pull out my phone tap on the app needs to update… they always do

new gradient same icon shape wide colorspace hard to adjust

why do we all want to shapeshift? to be seen through filters we make

on the G train dark grey sweatshirt black leather boots riding crosstown

slider tempts me— drag it slowly no one else stares they just don’t care

this is my stop: girl in red dress heels to match her lipstick and tits

costume changes inside closets infinite fits incoherence

it’s not just me, everyone plays gender’s this game’s in-app purchase

micro actions & transactions never enough to fill the space

if i’m always searching for it, the right setting, flipping through them

will i know when i have nailed it? new release notes: patches the bugs

what if i’m stuck inside a loop? keep it running there’s no kill switch

ftl

random chance meeting
sweater that shimmers
parties are fleeting
your glances glimmer
post selfies in slack
our dms vanish
a coffee date ask
making a plan-ish?
calls about lost work
texts about gender
watching your lil’ smirk
my heart grows tender
shopping for red skirts
sharing a small lunch
enjoying my quirks
i’m having a hunch…
flirting a little
to see if it sticks
too noncommittal?
or does it just click
late night at a show
we let our legs brush
at the bar i chose
you admit your crush
a ride to your place
the tension growing
sharing a small space
finally knowing
nervously waiting
for you to arrive
fuck, now we’re dating.
we instantly vibe

t4t

i read that things used to be different for us. that we used to hide behind heavy coats, from ourselves. i read that we’d get compared to cigarettes on the street in broad daylight just for walking the wrong way. things are different for us now. not because we are the majority, but because we are not, and we know that. our difference is our value.

things changed because seasons did. the old trees that once ruled the forest have fallen, been subsumed into the soil. things changed because our elders fought for us and their enemies dwindled. life is no less complicated here and now. it may be more so. but that complexity, that intricacy, that is part of what makes this worth it.

i went on a date yesterday. they had two faces and three names. his lips felt like safety and possibility and becoming. we didn’t need to connect our brains with wires to see. we spoke the same language, we knew the same songs. our bodies united like an antique lock and key, lubricated with the oil of our passion. i want more. no, i need it.

all my friends are trans. i broke up with the ones who weren’t.
they understood.

change is good. the people that don’t get that will never get us. not all change is for the better, but the potential for growth and for flourishing is all we have. the possibility that tomorrow will be a new day with new rules. and that we’ll be here for each other when it arrives. that we’ll nurture the seeds and each other. that we can.

just use mine

he’s wanted one, i think, a while still growing his, it takes its time i wonder: why not just use mine?

our parts are modular by design they’re aftermarket optimized hot-swappable and still divine

then i’m above and he’s below press into him, extend a loan tell him: touch, like it’s your own

he strokes it like a precious gift he must be worried, he’ll miss it the gratitude vibrates his wrist

he shakes as need remaps the mind and both our systems intertwine we once mistake his flesh for mine

i ask him softly if it was good he nods like i rewound the world we had made what no one could

poke

door opens— am i the fool?
gloves snap, now i’m playing my role
unstained steel tray cradles your tools
you wash me clean, i cede control
you sketch small leaves in purple ink
i play with you, this is our game
when it’s all done, what will they think?
art, artist, work— all share a name
calmly you ask “ready for stabs?”
there’s not a way for me to know
is this your temple or your lab?
we share one breath, it’s time to go
your sword and your eyes penetrate
music and pain blanket my brain
sometimes we should disregulate
questions pour out, blood from a vein
hours pass as you make passes
pricks turn into private pleasure
when we are through, our flesh collapses
every mark is made forever

birdcage

you ask me if i’m okay ⸻ with elevators? which strikes me odd, the way your eyes do

we board & take flight to the control room, 42 teacups on brass hooks carefully cluttered views

press my buttons, down with the same force you use to operate machines. the right pressure matters

the doors close around your fingers, lights flicker surging harnessed power i can’t look away, i won’t

we fall together back to earth where we stumble into your unmarked van. click of clear recognition

the next time i step into your cage you kiss my eyes closed and pull a lever that stops time

we’re suspended⸺ trapped in moments of wrought iron pressed against their grates and each other’s full frames

for as long as we are, we get to be happy

stick

winter cherry, lush pressed to the pane : clear swirling glass, vessels for grapes

red print attracts gazes from gays strange artifacts mouths go astray

first contact lasts longer than stains washed away fast — much like our brains

they always say lips that disguise can’t be the way, but never the why

shouldn’t we just paint what we feel even if lips must become the meal

“in your
ideal world,
what does
the future
of gender
look like”

gender abolition pronoun coronation human elocution border dissolution

frequent faggotry gorgeous gayety

sacred impiety campy pageantry

constant questioning mutual strengthening

boundary trespassing differents welcoming

bioavailable

there’s always a question
when i come into contact
with the substance of you.
how much of you can i absorb?
when you enter my bloodstream,
swim my veins where they lead.
the longer your half-life,
the more i’ll feel you there,
coursing through my core.
the closer your shape
gets to nature, the better
i can fully take you in.
drink you or swallow you
or let you dissolve under
my tongue every day as
you transform me with
area under your curves.
when is my next dose?

atlantic
pacific

i often wake three hours before your sunrise calls for a response logbook already soaked with ink we laugh, but even if we could, why constrain our outporings?

one winter day you ask for notes on undersea strings aware of both the timbre and tempo of these songs we start signing together

i fall into an evening rhythm talking and yes moaning into the phonograph, my head then swallowed by the brassy cone our voices sound better inside

when you open your ears again there’s so much weather to hear : wind and rain and quiet calm that lasts too long and means too much we keep sailing even without a map

true, land divides us more than sea, but these two coasts call to us both maybe it’s the sirens or the sounds of wavecrash against the shore — the dangers of unfathomed depths

accident(ily)

one fifty-four is not the hour to send texts, no autocorrect

risky confessions clipped affections dimmed i love you’s from neon rooms

could be a typo should i just lol or say her name, reply the same?

an oops can’t erase the thrumming bass as juniper slips from her bruised lips

tripping on her tongue fuck. uhh. drunk. umm. not that not yet

or at least — not like this