Trans Poetry - Blog Posts

Ironic, isn't it?

As we sit, the penultimate scene plays out. A father tells his son:

"I will love you for all of time, son"

And you are asleep. You don't see my face as I mourn the father you could have been. As I wish for the world where I had been born your son, or, at least, the world where you saw me as such.

You tell me you love me, but I know you are blind. I know you love only the idea, the memory, of the girl you lost.

Do you realize you're losing your boy, too?

My father loves the sky

He stares into the moon's light

Marveling at her beauty

"Look how she shines

How she wanes and waxes

How I love to see her glow"

What a shame that he is

blind

He can not

does not

Give such love

To the sun

The son

The sin

Which gives the moon her light.

being trans is a bit like

running hands over yourself and thinking

“i cannot wait for there to be a scar there

in the place of something else”

to know that all that will be left is the mark

a tangible reminder of how the creator wronged you

and how you made it right

Oil & Oracle

Ignition: a cough of chrome in midnight silence, and the mirror stares back, wrong. Not monster, but mismatch. Not horror, but error.

Oil-slick neon bleeds down cracked tile, a rave in the bathroom stall of a dying city. 3:04 AM. The pulse of the world: distant. But here, under trembling fluorescence, truth clicks open in a plastic bottle. Tiny algorithms of hope, pressed into form. She tips them into her palm like secrets stolen from gods who never saw her.

Once: She mistook the static for sadness. Mistook the rage for rot in her soul. But it was dysphoria. a ghost coded wrong in the bone, howling in frequencies she could never mute.

Now: The signal begins to clear. Week by week, the echo shifts. Hips bloom like language unforgotten. Skin softens, not as surrender, but prophecy. Her body, traitorous no longer, learns the hymn it was always meant to sing.

Anger drains like coolant from old pistons. Sadness peels away, flake by flake, revealing not joy, but clarity.

She was never broken. She was encrypted.

Transition is not repair. It is revelation. An unveiling, not of disguise, but of design—divine in defiance.

Each capsule swallowed is a liturgy. Each curve grown is scripture. Each hour survived is a sermon preached in the sanctuary of her spine.

In this machine-sick city, among rusted hearts and binary eyes, she is not anomaly. She is the future’s correct syntax.And when they call her artificial, she will smile, because artifice was their name for survival— but authenticity was always her war.

by the one who walked through wires to become whole

Penisneud

"You were born broken."

"That is your birthright."

-Beatrice Horseman

I was born small, swollen, and suffocated

Ive grown ten times in size

But alls the same

That ends the same

I edge near suffocation

When my partner suffocates me

To take the edge off me

Squeze harder please, it feels better for me

I want desperatley to be grateful for my life

And not swell myself on food and folly

I want to be small, carried by you

Why am I so small if im so big?

You tell me you love me all the same

But I'd change it anyday, anyway I could

If I could I would carry a wood worth its name

Instead it is life that is hard

And longing...

Transistince

Transistence is the resistence

Against the resistence to be trans

From outside and in my head

"Where the psychological

Becomes social"

As an old English professor used to say...

Are my layers just cake?

Vaccous calories of air and sugar?

Why do I yearn

To be a tasty pink cloud?

Dissappearing onto the horizon

Where a sunset masks the line between sky

And mountain

Psychological sky

And societal mountains

Buildings conceal the clouds

Light drowns out the stars

In total darkness

A Lesbian never born

So much for my love, i was cut off into

He cant be the she he wants to be

Estrogen gave him breasts, but not her

Chests full of milk and love soft soft All he wanted was to forget he was ever

Never a woman. He cries because he cant

Tell you all his male secrets. He loves

Every wave of femininity, that idea of

Sapphic love is fleeting sand he

Causes himself so much pain, he is so

Angry at what he was born to be, his

P**** envies the idea of being she, but

Eventually she might come through