sic mutare

TRANSMASCULINE as in 

this is the way you sit when 

you’re learning to take up 

      space. 

in the throes of 

self recognition i soothe my 

salt-cured younger self. wash 

(t)he(i)r listerine-sore gums 

with whiskey, lie 

that the burning gets better

in time. girlhood 

yawns like a tire-marred highway 

scuffed with rightful expectations 

of burnt rubber scrapes. i run from 

shreds of snakeskin shed (tears over). let me 

melt, gently from so much abrasion into 

aloe cool relief. despite 

slingshot-hurled expletives, 

fists curled sweat-iron hot,

i am traaay-unz (low twang like 

snapping sopping towels in jest). 

but hey, isn’t claiming labels the 

thursday night hobby of 

people who’re happy?  

under rust-streaked 

popcorn ceilings at 

queer guy slam nights, i’m

pretending to be pretty and

you’re trying not 

to notice. i’m 

TRANSGENDER as in 

leave me to dissolve into 

thin icy darkness— yes, dad. i’m

getting used to at home in 

my shell. here, 

among baritone silence, hail 

our glitter-choked, too-high tones. 

as they rip from our 

treasonous throats to stab 

holes in our mothers’ hopes for daughters 

unfulfilled, watch us melt. watch me, 

transmasculine, melt. here’s 

how my story goes: person lives, aches, 

dreams. 

wait with me for 

the ending. i am 

still learning to take up space.