today breaks open
in a sudden rain
on hot asphalt
every drop distills into
vapors.
today breaks open
in a sudden rain
on hot asphalt
every drop distills into
vapors.
if only my skin was as easy to wash
as quick to evaporate
what strikes it.
~
a man writes an editorial
that woman should be
punished named sued and shamed
for making sexual assault
“allegations”
a few days later
the same newspaper
runs a story
about a ciswoman
who thinks her human rights
are violated by sharing
a shelter room with a trans woman
because our bodies
are male
and it’s a “trigger”
to be so close
to what scares you.
~
allegations are a code word
for lies
what is the truth
between bodies
your cock inside me
as certain as
my hands on the floor,
my parted lips, uneven breath
trying to say
“no”.
was I male beneath you
my penis still fixed in place
hidden by the smallness of my hips
you were behind me
so maybe it didn’t matter
but it always matters
even when it doesn’t exist anymore
disappeared by a surgeon in Montréal
though still living in photos on your hard drive
the first time you saw it
you looked so sad
like someone died
and maybe it was your dream
of me dying,
or your desire, a funeral bed
of love evaporating
at the sight
of my dick.
I wonder if the cis woman
or the man in the newspaper
know anything of what a tranny endures
in the uncertain truth
of saying I exist
and I deserve better
than this late afternoon rain
this dampness on my neck
my wet breasts
a pussy filled with hurt
in a city where every stranger’s glance
is an allegation
I can’t answer.
I want to say a boy raped me
he called me a man
with every sorrowful look
and I want to say
a trans woman is a woman
no matter what does
or doesn’t
live between her legs.
the only thing
I’m ashamed of is
how scared I am
of men.
if anyone deserves punishment
and none of us do
broken creatures running from the rain
through crosswalks
it’s the boy
who took everything
I am
or the woman in public bathroom
with her accusing eyes
on me as I wash my hands
and this infinite city skyline
with its harsh truths like storm clouds
the greyness of the pavement
as moisture
like truth
like mercy
like love
vanishes back
into the bodies
it came from.
~
dear editor
i’m tired
i’m so tired
of being punished
named
shamed
and sued
for telling the truth
I have to bear
like a drop of water down
the back of my shirt,
a small constant suffering
that no heat
can ever dissolve
I am a woman
always was
always will be
never mind this pussy
or that cock
it never makes/made
much of a difference
anyway
and he raped me
you know
dear editor
i’m more tired
than you know
or will ever know
so go ahead
and sue me
I can’t get any wetter
than I already
am.
Author’s Statement:
I wrote a poem in response to a recent National Post editorial calling for #metoo survivors to be publicly named, shamed, punished, and sued as well as a National Post article about a cis woman claiming that sharing space in a shelter with a trans woman violated her human rights. Both were published last week. I’ve spent the weekend thinking about the editorial and the article. My poem in response, letters to the editor, focuses on the daily burdens of transphobia and being a survivor. If I wrote letters to the editor, it is what I would write.
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