At twelve oaks I was renamed.
Blessed by 32 hands, some biting gnats and one playful Airedale.
Not kicking, struggling, gripping by the wrist;
the ankle. No Esau to usurp. i was my own Laban.
Supplanting the Bean which never grew stalk.
I yanked out the roots,
willing the end of destruction even while
On Good Friday I was rebirthed.
Surrounded by the beauty of a family beyond blood.
Claiming my eunuch-hood, awaiting the needle.
My entry way, birth pain through the hip.
Held in the silent circle willing to wait up the extra hour, overcome with anxiety and joy.
I pass because
I have to.
(Do I really pass?)
Pass, such an oddity (I am).
Pass into male out of female,
-first, at the front
-next, the face
-finally (if interested) the crotch
I thought about it again today
leaving my binders, wearing a bra.
Not as a political statement or to
genderfuck the pass-(h)er-bys.
(This thought makes me smile)
No more lyrca, spandex or velcro;
elastic lines etched into
I will have red skin soon enough.
A permanent (in)visible bra, binding skin to muscle,
encircling my areolas.
And I wonder,
does that really make me male?
Or do the scars really make the
pass-(h)er-bys more comfortable?
As they pass him by.
What it feels like to be hapa me
want this: the yellow mixed with
You'll never say
I didn't want "this" either: my mixed race. But
Your eyes staring. Orientalism.
Being told that my almondshapedeyesmustmeanthatI'mJapaneseor
Mexican. I was an
Polynesian looking. I had a round face,
small muscular waist.
Now I am "like chocolate cake" to the rice queens. When
You look for It tomorrow
the ricebowl will be cleared.
did he missher when she came
were there unrecorded scars? silent, unspoken.
Fig or Apple is there a difference?
the guilt is just the same;
clothing, breast, color, scent.
he was only sleeping(it was only a rib)
dreaming of what he could never know;
while She, fully conscious,
watched his pale blue lips.
December 11, 2007
Posted by Jake Twist at 00:23