I pass as girl when walking down the street.
My frame is small, exposed ankles and wrists.
Pale legs are smooth. I skirt. I sway like meat.
My hair has length to wrap around men’s fists.
You take up space like I do not. You stalk
with shoulders back. Your hair cropped, spiked and short.
Boy pants. You come from gender twisting stock.
You are my kind, but you face Springfield’s hurt.
This week we voted out your kind. The sort
of girl that shows her skin. Who walks the walk.
You face the street, sleeve pinned with bloody heart
and your rights are minced, cut up, chopping block.
I hide by wearing skirts and fucking men.
But in bigoted eyes, my heart has sin.
*Written in response to Springfield voting to repeal a non-discrimination ordinance.
**Written at a time when my gender presentation leaned towards the more feminine.
