no one, but me

This poem is about not wanting people to define or label me because of the clothes I chose to wear. My body is mine to dress as I want, and how I choose to dress it should not make others choose to judge me or make assumptions.

Thin blue dress

patterned with vivacious horses

slides over red gym shorts

and a black & white bra

slides over a bike seat

as heat swelters, sweat trickles

“Oh you look so nice”

first comment of the day

I don’t usually wear femme; are you surprised?

Now that I fit your stereotype, am I more acceptable?

“Who are you trying to impress?”

No one, but me

My body is not for you

Horses gallop over

black & white bra

eyes slide toward my body

as my body slides on my bike

red shorts glisten, wind caresses my thighs

as  I slide through the air

My body is mine

I dress it for me to be me

It does not define me, or my gender identity

I dress it to slide through the air

my strength

this poem is about the strength (and beauty) of our bodies, in contrast to how Western culture may view our bodies. especially for femme bodies it is important to recognize what is often taken away – our autonomy and self-determination. for all the femmes, especially those that struggle with body image and dysphoria. 

thighs sprout

strong tree trunks

muscles buried within 

my clay sandy skin

my Strength

misogyny leaves an ugly mark

on my body

misogyny is countered by

my Strength

a danger to expose my body

because my body will expose

my Strength

cis hetero men stare

they don’t see

my Strength

but I do. 

i will open wide

my Strength

and squeeze tight 

squeeze the life from

cis hetero patriarchy with

my Strength

my redefinition of love

here’s one i wrote this month about love. i have very different definitions of things than most people. sometimes i feel like trying to communicate with people is impossible because i’d have to explain all my differences before we could even begin. i believe in love but not love defined through the system of patriarchy and white supremacy.

Love is not romance.

Love is not flowers, or dinners

or dates.

Romance is constructed through layers of

patriarchy mixed with western notions

of [preferably white] companionship.

Love is wanting to change the world

not through ideas of peace, but through strength and steel.

Love is reaching inside yourself

to peel away layers which are not yours,

but were given to you

soaked in hundreds of years of oppressive behaviors.

Love is never candies or chocolate

or holding hands in a movie theater.

Love is always the search for revolution;

the search for armed resistance.

Love is when we will be able to stand together

against forces much bigger than us

but we will win, not just through love

but because we will have realized through love

what we need to win.

Love will never be romantic.

Love will always be us together against the state.