amaevis

Revision of http://amaevis.tumblr.com/post/7802092192/honestly.

Honestly,
I lied most of my life.

You see,
When I was born,
They put an ‘M’ on my birth certificate,
And that was when the lies began.

And what they don’t tell you,
What you may not know,
Is that when you lie about something
As essential as gender,
Lying becomes second nature.

When I was little,
I pretended to like what my friends liked,
Especially sports,
That was a lie.
When I tried to lose myself in books,
Escaping to a world where anything was possible,
As if nothing else mattered,
That was a lie.
When my body betrayed me,
And my testes started pumping testosterone
Through my body,
And I pretented to be ecstatic
About the changes,
That was a lie.
When I buried myself in work,
And overcommitted to projects on timelines
I knew I couldn’t deliver on,
But I almost killed myself trying to anyway,
That was a lie.
And during a 12 year relationship,
When I denied everything that I was,
Because I told myself that as long as
I was making my partner happy,
I was doing the right thing,
That was a lie.

But the biggest lies
Are not mine.
The biggest lies
Belong to us all.

We think that our genitals
Define our gender:
That is a lie.
We think that what a person’s body:
Their facial hair, shoulders, chest, or hips,
Is bigger than their soul:
That is a lie.
We think that surgery is mutilation,
And that the physical wound is bigger
Than the wound in the soul that it heals:
That is a lie.
And we think that other people know you
Better than you know yourself:
That is the biggest lie of all.

So let me lay down some truth.

Truth:
For the first time in my life,
I am proud of who and what I am.
Truth:
Coming out was a
Demand to the world
That it recognize me for my true self.
Truth:
I do not need to disclose
That I am trans,
Because I am a woman,
And that is the full truth.

Honestly,
I am a woman,
And I have never been more honest in my entire life.

Honestly,
I lied most of my life.

You see,
When I was born,
They put an ‘M’ on my birth certificate,
And that was when the lies began.

And what they don’t tell you,
What you may not know,
Is that when you lie about something
As essential as gender,
Lying becomes second nature.

When I was little,
I pretended to like what my friends liked,
Especially sports,
That was a lie.
When I tried to lose myself in books,
Escaping to a world where anything was possible,
As if nothing else mattered,
That was a lie.
When my body betrayed me,
And my testes started pumping testosterone
Through my body,
And I pretented to be ecstatic
About the changes,
That was a lie.
When I buried myself in work,
And overcommitted to projects on timelines
I knew I couldn’t deliver on,
But I almost killed myself trying to anyway,
That was a lie.
And during a 12 year relationship,
When I denied everything that I was,
Because I told myself that as long as
I was making my partner happy,
I was doing the right thing,
That was a lie.

But the biggest lies
Are not my lies.
The biggest lies are our lies.

We think that our genitals
Define our gender:
That is a lie.
We think that what a person looks like,
Their facial hair, shoulders, chest, or hips,
Is bigger than their soul:
That is a lie.
We think that surgery is mutilation,
And that the physical wound is bigger
Than the wound in the soul that it heals:
That is a lie.
And we think that other people know you
Better than you know yourself:
That is the biggest lie of all.

Honestly,
I am a woman,
And I have never been more honest in my entire life.

Revised by http://amaevis.tumblr.com/post/7845670439/honestly-rev-2.

Revision of http://amaevis.tumblr.com/post/7657909618/haunted

You were stolen,
Ripped apart by a bullet, a knife, or bare hands.
You were crushed by their hate.

And now,
Now that you are gone:
Do you look back?

Do you see the police making excuses for their failure,
Hear them saying how difficult it is to investigate an “alternative lifestyle”?
Smell the fear that the press paints in crimson ink - “he”, “dressed as a woman”
Taste the bile of your family, who loved “him” and supported “him” and never judged “him”
Do you feel the sting of your birth name carved in your memory between parentheses?

I know you,
All of you,
My sisters,
Dragged, screaming and in agony,
I am haunted by your memory.

I see you When I scan the street for dangerous faces,
Angry eyes, derisive smiles, and disgusted sneers.
I hear you
In the pounding of my heart,
As I disclose my past to a potential lover,
Waiting to be slapped, punched,
Yelled at and exposed, harassed in the restroom,
Stalked to my home and “taught a lesson”,
Or at best, get a condescending “you’re so brave,”
Followed by a vanishing act.
I taste you
While real women with child pass by,
In the bitter knowing that our empty husks,
Mine barely alive, yours six feet under,
Will never house a womb.
I feel you
In the tightness of clothes on my shoulders and ribcage,
Bagginess in my hips, hands and feet too big, jaw too strong, voice too deep,
Brow bone of a cave dweller.
I smell you
In the concerned bullshit
Of bigots prescribing treatments to fix us,
Saying the changing the body is mutilation,
And the disease is in the mind,
Because apparently, it is too difficult
To consider that maybe
It is what’s up here
And not down here
That matters.

I am haunted by you,
As I am sure I will haunt others,
Trapped as we are in this world,
Even in death,
Our pain forever reaching out.

I hope one day we can be free
Because if it were up to me,
When I die,
I will never look back.

Do you look back?
Now that you are gone,
Sent too soon away from this world to the next
By a bullet, a knife, a baseball bat, or bare hands,
Do you look back?
Do you look down from Heaven upon us?
The press, who call you “he” and say “dressed as a woman”,
The police, who say how difficult it is to solve your murder
When it’s steeped in an “alternative lifestyle”.
Do you visit your family?
They who say they loved “him” and supported “him” and never judged “him”
What do you do up there?
When even the queer press who is “on our side”
Puts your birth name, tattooed like a prison label, in parentheses.

Because I feel you,
All of you,
My sisters,
Taken too soon,
Dragged, screaming, tortured, in agony in your final moments.
I am haunted by your memory.

I feel you
Every time I walk down the street,
Scanning for angry eyes, hate and disgust on dangerous faces.
I reach you
Every time I disclose my past to a potential lover
Wondering if I will get a sneer of disgust, a slap or punch to the face,
Yelled at and exposed, followed and harassed to the restroom,
Stalked to my home and “taught a lesson”,
Or in the best case,
A condescending, “you’re so brave,”
Followed by a vanishing act.
I touch you
Every time I put on clothes,
Feel tightness in my shoulders and rib cage, bagginess in my hips,
Hands and feet too big, jaw too strong, voice too deep, brow bone of a cave dweller,
Knowing that these will never go away.
I see you
Every time I see a “real” woman,
Walking, talking, or smiling,
Or worse yet, with child,
Knowing that our empty husks, mine barely alive,
Yours six feet under,
Will never house a womb.
I smell you
Whenever I get a whiff of the bullshit
From “concerned people”
Who prescribe treatments to fix us,
Say that changing the body is invalid
When the disease is in the mind,
Because apparently, it is too difficult,
To see beyond narrow minds
And use our real Goddamn names.
I taste you
Whenever I taste the bile
Of a friend who wears a “Women Born Women” T-shirt,
Or an ally who thinks that the word cisgender is offensive
Or that it is enough to list “woman” vs. “trans woman” on registration forms.

I am haunted by you,
As I am sure I will haunt others,
Trapped as we are in this world,
Even in death,
Our pain forever reaching out.

I hope one day we can be free
Because if it were up to me,
When I die,
I will never look back.

Revised by http://amaevis.tumblr.com/post/7798121049/haunted-rev-2.

What do you see?
Do you see my smile, shy and small?
Do you see the wrinkles on my forehead, worn with worry?
Do you see the scars on my body, mind, and soul?
Carved by a world that attacks what I am,
Not white, not male, not native, and not butch,
Not what society sees as strong and good.

What do you hear?
Do you hear the voice of a woman?
Do you hear my English,
And am I one to be listened to?
Do you hear a child,
For we are all children,
Desperate to be understood.
Do you hear the beating of my heart,
Anxious, awaiting your judgment,
Am I one of you?

What do you feel
When I disclose that I am trans?
Do you dismiss me?
Do you feel shocked that I “pass so well”?
Do you feel disgust?
Do you feel betrayed?
Do you feel pity
For one so sick, so self deluded,
Trying to be what I cannot?

What do you think?
Am I an interloper?
An agent of the transsexual empire?
Have I not suffered enough to be “real”?
How much is enough?
As a chink, as an immigrant,
As one who gets catcalled, harassed, and stalked.
Do you think that it’s enough that
I mentally carve my own flesh every moment?
What would make me “real”?

We talk about the male gaze
That eroticizes and objectifies,
Dissects bodies on film and screen.
We talk about the white gaze
That turns all others into genies:
Queer eyes, bagger vances,
Bringing down the house to save straight marriages.

But what about the cisgender gaze?
(As a trans lesbian, I’m always in a room full of cisgender gays.)
The one that projects gender and identity onto my body,
That assumes what is in everyone’s panties.

We analyze gaze to exhaustion
But here’s a revelation
A revolution is brewing
Three simple words.

I. Don’t. Care.

I don’t care what you see.
I don’t care what you hear.
I don’t care what you feel.
I don’t care what you think.

I am trans,
And I don’t care.

That is revolution.