Abstracts

I Wish I Were Trans

I wish I were trans,

But I can’t.

It’s okay to be gay and lesbian

But not trans.

Trans means

Scary

Awkward

Unnecessary

Maybe a little extreme?

Trans destroys your means.

No job

No home

No love

No SEX to call my own.

I wish I were trans,

But I can’t.

I can’t afford it.

My family can’t bear it.

My society won’t stand it.

I wish I were trans,

But they would still call me HE

When all I want is to be SHE.

But they would call me IT.

I never realized the power of the letter S.

Structured

Stigmatized

SENTENCED.

TRANSsexual!

TRANSgender!

TRANSgressor!

I wish I were trans,

But I can’t.

But I deny myself.

But I shush myself.

But I HURT myself.

Blue Sequin High Heel Shoes

When I think of my childhood memories

I always remember my mom’s blue sequin high heel shoes

So shiny

So stylish

So full of glitter fantasy.

I remember the times I tried them on:

Such a felony

Such a daring crime

Such a surreptitious strike.

I was no older than six years old,

But I knew clicking my heels in those blue sequin shoes

Would always transport me to pastel cues.

I knew I should’ve been playing in the mud

I knew I should’ve been learning how to tie knots

But how liberating and enchanting were those shoes!

I would sneak and be my own lookout

I couldn’t afford getting caught,

For I knew little boys had no business trying on their mamas’ shoes.

Oh, how wrong was I!

Had I known there was nothing to worry about,

I would have never taken off my mom’s blue sequin high heel shoes.

Don’t Be like Him

“Don’t be like him!” Grandma said.

“Don’t be like him!” Auntie said.

“Don’t be like him!” Mama said.

*Who am i supposed to be like then?*

“He shouldn’t be in the kitchen.”

“He shouldn’t be playing with dolls.”

“He shouldn’t be acting so feminine.”

** What should i be doing when i am alone?**

“I hope you’ll never be like your cousin,” Grandma said,

“Asking for recipes and gossiping like a girl.”

“I hope you’ll learn there’s no place for men in the kitchen,

Unless it’s mealtime and I get to serve.”

***Can i expect not to be interested in all of that as well?***

As a child, I understood I never wanted to be like him,

One rejected gay boy who found no solace in being who he was.

Even though I had my granny’s and family’s conditioned love,

I felt the best way to survive through my childhood was to be

less like him, less like me.

More like their idea of what little boys are meant to be.

****How is a kid supposed to grow carrying all of that?!****

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