Say White Wine
"My emotions towards my work are not always my own, I take inspiration from the lives around me and see gender as such a universal but unique form of identity, as it is in ourselves it is in the world around us. For we are at one with the Earth in our souls, so we must resonate with its beauty."
They Call Me a Hybrid Beast
SCUFFED KNEES ARE COMMON
HE'S JUST A YOUNG BOY. A YOUNG BOY WITH BIG DREAMS!
HIS KNEES ARE SCUFFED FROM TREES AND MUDDY FROM THE EARTH.
BUT MINE ARE BRUISED AND BURNT,
THERE’S SWELLING UPON MY THIGHS.
ENGRAVINGS OF A NAME IM FORCED TO FORGET.
I REPLACE IT WITH LUST LACED HONOUR.
WHAT MAKES ME DIFFERENT. FROM A YOUNG BOY THAT GRATES THE
PAVEMENT. HIS SKIN SITS UPON THE GRAVEL
HE GOES OVER AND GREETS HER. WITH A FIST AND BLOODED TEETH.
A SMILE AS A SUPPLEMENT FOR COLD DOSE OF PLEASURE,
PLEASING WITH DRIPPING SPIT AND PROFANE CONDUCT.
HE'S A VIOLENT MAN,
I'VE GOT VIOLET KNEES.
WHY DO I ENVY THEM?
I WISH MY RIBS DIDN'T FEEL SO HOLLOW,
AND THAT MY HEART HAD TIME TO HEAL.
I WISH IT WAS FLAT ENOUGH TO LAY MY HOPES ON, AND WEAR IT OUT ON MY CHEST LIKE THE MEN DO.
I WANT TO QUENCH MY THIRST ON COLD BEERS, AND KNOW THAT I CAN TAKE IT.
I WANT MY MOUTH FOR ADMIRATION, NOT SWEETNESS. AND FEMININITY.
AND ICARUS' ANATOMY. TO FLY TOO CLOSE TO THE SUN, AND SUFFER FOR MY TEMPORARY GLORY.
I WRAP MY TOWELS TOO TIGHT AROUND MY WAIST. A SUCKER FOR VESTS
TWO TIMES TOO SMALL. AND DRESS MYSELF TILL COMICALLY OVERSIZED.
FOR I'M FAR TOO THIN, TOO FRAIL, SWALLOW MY MUSCLES WHOLE FOR A DISPHORIC KIND OF HUNGER.
IT'S BITTER AFTERTASTE, IM NAKED ON THE INSIDE, REFLECTED WRETCH OF AN EXTERIOR
A DYSMORPHIC DISORDER. AN OPPOSITE. OF BOY? OF GIRL?
MY SPINE IS TWISTED, PRESSED AND MISSHAPEN.
AND ON THE OUTSIDE. I LOOK IN.
IM SICK, THEY SAY IM A GENETIC MALFUNCTION. DEVOURING MY OWN SENSE OF SELF.
THIS TRANS BODY.
STUFF A MOUTH FULL OF BINARY.
SUSTENANCE AND WATER, OF GENDER FLUIDITY.
I ENVIED THE BOYS I WISHED TO LOVE.
WHEN THEY SOUGHT FOR FEMALE ADORATION.
AND I WISHED THE SAME.
GENDERLESS BEING, SEXLESS IDENTIFICATION.
A LOATHING FOR MY OWN NAME.
Specimen of a Human
Divine femininity between my legs.
And your voice, and mine will get caught in my throat.
And I find myself choking, I find it hard to swallow.
A name that is
Bitter but hard to spit out.
I know my body was born for the upsell,
Drown me in textures, drown me in the weight of what is pretty.
Make the cheap and tasteless age like wine.
But keep me young, clean, infantile.
Then I am worth expense.
Burn holes in pockets and my own skin.
Let men crush cigarettes ends against my cheeks.
I am not desired,
But who knew that could cause more violence.
Maybe they will only love me like this?
I have found that, the less admirable a body becomes, the easier it is to use.
I became victim to my own misfortune.
Because what do you do, when a name doesn't fit?
Or neither do you in this societal box of conformity.
It's a girl.
The first of few words spoken,
When I was brought to this earth.
Wasn't she so pure?
She is the prettiest girl on earth.
What happened to the gorgeous girl we once knew.
You’re too pretty to be a boy,
And dont you look like a lesbian.
For I had never cared about ‘the male gaze.’
Until it fell onto me.
I have killed that little girl they once knew.
I have crushed my lungs and wrenched my gut at the body she gave me.
I remember the pink room, with white walls and mutilated dolls.
And maybe it all started when I first painted the walls blue to cover the red from the dead girl I left behind.
And if you had asked me why I'd done it?
Id say to ask my parents,
For my answer depends on the day.
Her mother had loved her unconditionally,
Her father had loved her more so.
And I bore witness to the death of this girl by my own two hands.
Whilst another picked up her body.
A feminine accomplice in my attempt at self proclamation for murder.
And let it rest in the violet fields of yesterday.
I no longer fear the consequence of my own death, attempt at a half hearted suicide for the weak willed.
I am alive now, yet that leaves tomorrow.
I do not decide who I am.
But for this moment,
I am sure in the love of self and others,
In these four hands,
With no feminine accomplice.