|—||Amy Poehler in Yes Please|
|—||Amy Poehler in Yes Please|
I sit here, like my robin there,
watching the geese overhead
in their socially aware V
pointing all together and chattering
in honking gasps of glory and gathering.
My robin looks up,
head cocked and eye a-glitter
and wonders what the hub bub is all about…
and also wonders why she sits,
alone and remaining
as the wind grows chill
and the sky grows grey
and the air grows still
as the more social birds
gather up and leave together
on soft grey southern wings.
Didn’t we used to all trill and honk
and tweet and cheep together?
And I came everyday eager to the yard,
to flit and look for bugs and worms and seeds…
but now? As the leaves have left
and the geese are leaving
and the cats still lurk in black slashes
of slink and dash and calico camouflage
patterns against the browning grass?
I really don’t understand
this community thing
when I show up
everyday in the yard,
but worms taste
wriggly and gritty
without any company.
Maybe the high rock raptors
had it right all along,
maybe solitary unconfinement
was better than that
surface social refinement?
And then the robin
swells her breast with breath,
quivers behind her black bright eye,
and takes wing to fly,
and make her moves
around the growing absence
in the winter neighborhood waiting
until the spring once again
brings those members in the moment
noisy and social, and hell bent
on the seeds and bugs of the verdant yard.
I am pressing this, Constance, because it is the chronicle of the courage of a person to explore the dynamics and politics of gender in a world that is gradually moving from ignorance into enlightenment in this area.
No…this does not mean that I want to date men.
No…this does not mean that I want to date women either! Quite simply, gender and sexuality intersect only to the degree that the individual person connects them, they are not inextricably joined at the hip!
All desire to date anyone disappeared from within me the literal instant my eyes saw my beloved. She is my “sexual orientation”…She is my “sexual preference”…I don’t know if I would have seen her if she was male-bodied, but now that I have lived with her these last decades, well it would not matter to me what body she had…she is herself, and forever my one and only love.
Just wanted to mention that because of the coming crap storm from my self-appointed “lovers of the sinner” who will say that I am (fill in the blank from their fetid minds and sordid imaginations and black hearts)…
Nope, none of that, I want you to please read the thoughtful intelligent steps of courage of a human being.
It is only circumstance that I met my beloved before dealing with my gender issues…who knows how the struggle would have been? And that is why the issue must be grappled with. Each person needs love and someone to love…even transgender people.
PS: I just noticed that this article appeared in a different form at this link:
It is just enough different as to be interesting.
This is outrageous. I am sick of it, frankly…the answer that comes…each and every time…a woman is shot for resisting a man’s advances, a transwoman is killed for walking trans, a woman is beaten because she didn’t like the man’s catcalling…
…and each and every time comes the hot refrain “not all men”. And in that outrage comes the self-exoneration to take any responsibility whatsoever to change this absolute plague that is indeed of epidemic proportion. Women are treated like property, and around the globe like garbage.
Reminds me of Lot, who was looking for even 5 good men to ask God to stay His hand from destroying the cities so deeply inculcated in evil that they were beyond saving…after the evil was cut away nothing remained…
…modern man looking for some men somewhere who haven’t done this so they can continue to think of us as cattle, as property, as garbage, as objects existing to meet their needs and they the only judge and arbiter of what a need is and when it is and why it is and woe to you woman if you didn’t realise that the need changed you simply must be taught a lesson.
Every single male out there reading this: I have walked in your spaces unseen, and I know your thoughts and rationalizations and reasons and excuses and the way that very quickly into encountering a rant like mine this morning you smile and go to a happy place inside where the mantra runs something like “crazy-bitch alert, must be hormonal, humor the lil woman, must remember to bring flowers to distract her”…
…and then the discussions among yourselves of how she brought it on herself with her (fill in the blank)…
If you are reading this while male, then you are responsible to begin changing this, and doing so with vigor. You are the one with power. You are the one who can confront men without getting what I just wrote or a fist in the face. LISTEN: we don’t want what you HAVE…we want to be WHO we ARE! And what is truly pathetic is that you are blind to how much better you will be for it.
I know, I know…you don’t see it. My face has been in danger of being permanently blue from arguing with men and them resorting to slut shaming me (and this was before they even knew I was trans!) because I was imagining things…they remind me of fish in water with gills who claim that they have no special power whatsoever just because they can breathe in water.
Well, we have lungs and live on land…fishes! Try coming out of the water and walking in our world! Yeah, choking a bit, aren’t you?
What I am trying to say is that you need to look soberly at your participation in the rape and abuse and enslavement and othering and dehumanizing of half of the image of God. And if you have any integrity or guts, begin to walk different, talk different, and be different.
I wonder what a true man looks like, one who would treat me as a subject because I am in God’s Image, and not as an object because I am in Hugh Hefner’s image (or in derision because I with my transgender testosterone wrecked monstrosity called a body am not)?
So just in case you think I am fantasizing…
I got tired of printing screen, but I could have gone on…the rest of the day…and tomorrow too.
Men, you say good things happen all the time from men to women?
Start with not raping us. beating us…no wait! This is even easier…pay us the same amount of money for the same work, and give us access to the same jobs and positions. Leave the safety of the lil boys clubs and walk in the world as men who are committed to using their strength and guts to place others above themselves.
Do Justice. Love Mercy. Walk Humbly.
PS: I just have to share this funny: I just said something to my baby about how the Entitlement Mantle is the evil perversion of the Harry Potter Invisibility Cloak!! lol
“What are you complaining about? We have to run the same distance as you, so it’s equal!” (seen online)
They stood there,
silhouetted against the sunrise
and rifles aimed, at me
silhouetted against the velvet dark
of dawning and birth and being,
silhouetted against that red brick wall.
21 guns, barrels like unblinking eyes,
black, flat depths unblinking too
and peering from their graves
in grim unfeeling determination
to put me in my place,
put me in my grave,
put me back with them.
There are 3 bullets among them,
the 21 guns staring unblinking and grim,
and they comfort themselves with lies
that they do not know who has the bullets…
but I do, I know, I see
the silver winking bright
in the unblinking barrels
twice (Forgive them!)
thrice (They know not what they do!)
And then the lightening struck
in those volleys of thunder raining down
over my ears as my eyes went bright
and my vision streaked red and silver
in terror and tragic tremour and
violent shuddery release.
It knocked me out of my shoes
and pinned my shadow against that
smooth red brick wall, now pitted
three times pitiless and gaping,
and I felt funny somehow, floating there,
hanging light and airy, somehow too light
without my shadow, crumpled
and remaining nailed
to brick and beam
by palm and palm and foot
and those empty shoes, kicked akimbo
by my eager rushing exit from that place.
Right under their noses!
I rose up unseen
while they stared on
in horror and resignation
except for the three
who leereed in hungry glee
and desperate jealous lusty thirst.
But for just a bit, I stayed,
to move from gun to gun
and kiss the barrels each one cold
(and 3 so hot and acrid)
and then I began to rise and leave,
when I heard some flat dead zombie voice say
“get that thing out of here and clean this mess up”.
I saw that it was one of them,
a former being who was
a current corporate walking dead
(but hey, see this company credit card?)
in shoes and sunglasses
in the dawn’s early light
and I couldn’t tell
what was more offensive:
my shoes skewed
sideways and useless
or my shadow
pinned and unmoving?
I shed one celestial tear
and rose up on the sound
of 21 flat cracks still ringing
and I leapt graceful
on feet bare and light
from sounds of wrong
to sounds of ever right
and found my wings
midst the flurry of sound and fury
and flew away for good
to a 21 gun salute.
like the moment just before
a leaf decides to let go
but the tree doesn’t yet know it,
so it waits, the leaf, it waits
to leave and never return.
It’s this moment, still,
between determined faith and action,
between sharp heart felt questions
(like whether God loves me or tolerates me, or cares or hears my prayers or is even near?)
and dark deep-felt screaming
despair unquestioning running
ragged and burning in flames
undulating from faith to action
shoving hard against paralysis.
This drifty floaty
that drifty floaty
and it drops, it drifts,
it breaks and crashes, it dashes
into a thousand brilliant colors
and a million diamond drops
each and everyone shouting forever
I was, in my birth,
and I am!
I am in my courage
and I will be!
I will be
in the sea
and its salty desire, in the dirt
and its brown gritty tang,
in tree roots drawn up liquid again
from the ground to the limbs thru the leaves there to breathe
and to fly up and shine
in the glowing deep night
in the twinkle and tingling cold there to
glitter and shimmer like silver elixir
for seraphim thirsty in splendour…
slaking the thirst of angels…
stoking desire in God…
hanging in this moment
midst the fragrances of hope
and stormy lightening-strike ozone
stark and fresh and scintillating
in the stillness of the moment,
of the drifty-floaty moment
this drifty-floaty timeless moment