I can’t seem to get it out of my head right now,
that voice that says I am nothing but trash.
I watched them eat today…all the love I poured out
into a soup made of cabbage and heart, tomatoes and soul,
sausage and love…and oodles of noodles spiced and
how could they know what I add to it,
as I stir it, sing over it, taste it, and most of all
picture their faces and hear their glad voices
as they partake of it and are made more whole?I don’t use any measuring cups for adding me, I just
pour it in, and then add a bit more…that’s who I want to be.
That’s who I think I am, try to be…
but the voice, gawd that gibbering skritching itchy voice
so insinuating, sibilant, and reminding…it never forgets,
it never lets me forget either.oh fuuuu…how I wish I could forget making
a love offering, excited and sweet and for
a Once in a Lifetime Special Occasion…
and to the trash bin…to the trash
and that is what the voice says I am
a transgender piece of trash not worth
the paper I am printed on.
“you call yourself grace, at least have the good grace
to go die, or at least put yourself in the trash”.
I poured me in! My me…in there!
So nothing, me…so trashy me…so dangerous and poison,
and then voice speaks of the transgression of the me,
and the infinite regress of guilty, and
guilty by association…