Love At Knife Point

I love you
with your knife in my back
point point point point point point
bloody pinpricks and slashes
on my skin, in my heart
across my face in
careful cursive

a mockery of
any love but self-love
which like Narcissus intoxicates
you obsesses you, captivates
you with yourself, and that
a pit of empty nothing
filled with

You do
“Mean Girls” so well…
Are you a secret Broadway Agent
searching for locations to sell yourself
to Hollywood and pitch your script
as Lindsay or Tina?  Yeah,
TINA…Though Lindsay
has a certain

your knife
throbs like a tattoo gun
that backfires and messes
your malformed middle with
toxic black hate and my
blood blows back in
your face


That Eternal Aftermath

It’s burst,
that Red Balloon floating
over the spindly-legged delicate
black lace Eiffel.

It splattered balloony-guts
in violent gouts
so grotesque
it’s nearly absurd,
and their
rubbery red-joke streaks
on the side
of that squatty arc
are anything but

That’s how it works, terrorism…
that shock,
and your life
is doomed to never
the same
and yet never
rinse-repeat cycle…

That’s how it is…
in my own private Paris,
misogynistic othering
phobic policing
sacks of pure hatred
shitting swaths
of bullets from
and bursting Balloons here
and over the rainbowtumblr_ml9q09f3Za1rlrdqeo1_1280

Destroyer of Worlds

I wrote this poem during one of the dark days…you out there, you cisgendered, please please open your heart and listen.

You literally do not know what it is like to be NULL, to be NOT and naught…

That doesn’t mean that you cannot feel hurt, pain, despair, depression…but at least you can be at home in yourself.

For transgender people, this is something that we have never ever experienced, that feeling of belonging to ourselves…

I am asking for your kindness, if you could find it within yourself to be kind…to not call us trannies or shemales or freaks, etc…and to not assume that we all just want sex so we are doing these perverted things.

It is so much more basic than that.

Anyway…here is the poem…
Smoke is a metaphor here (clue alert lol!!) for Hope, for Love, for acceptance, for Being…
smoke is the revenant released from wood by fire…
ponder it.

Destroyer of Worlds

Smoke is gone,
dispersed on unknown
Winds of Strange Terror and Havoc…
and Abandon.

Acrid scents that once
stirred memories of
Happy hearth
and hale health,

now just
lament of torched heart
and rejected soul
I mourn, I grieve,
and keen from the loss,

my voice
a soundless scream,
my throat ripped
by silent strain
to utter no noise while
my heart shrieks

trees bend and move,
and grasp and grapple
but Smoke twists…
flows…and passes thru,
ghost of some future happy hope…
alas that phantom hope

Smoke has gone
and I am ruined
forever marked
and branded
with loss.