Starlight she becomes, p.3
Starlight She Becomes, page 3
me at birth, at the hormonal crossroads
of puberty: “are you a boy? or are you a girl?”
i would’ve chosen “girl” every single time.
the only time i call myself “she” is in my poetry
it’s easier when i remove myself from it, pretend who i’m
writing about isn’t me, or at least some distant version of me
who’s had a little more time to grow into herself. maybe if i
write it down enough times, i’ll start believing it.
existential
i want to live so much more life than we’re allowed to and i don’t know how to cope with it. there are nights where i stare up at the stars, look at my reflection in the moon, let the cool air chill me to my soul, and am burdened with how small i am compared to the universe even though it’s no small miracle that i am here. i am burdened with how society has siphoned away the miraculousness of it all by replacing the sun as the center of our solar system with the dollar bill. just as the universe is endlessly expanding beyond itself, i, too, have outgrown myself. i have outgrown homes and cities and states. i have outgrown a country, a society, a world that would rather see me dead than let me simply be. and though i haven’t outgrown the universe, i am certainly catching up to her.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
screaming insecurities
imposter syndrome never really goes away,
a constant crisis that comes and goes just
to make us question our place in the world.
what does belonging look like? is it a state of
being accepted or just a state of being? i write,
but sometimes it doesn’t feel like i belong
on the same shelf as other writers, let alone
the same book. i’ve been on hormones for 11 months,
4 days, and 2 hours but sometimes i feel like
i’m not trans enough. it’s like always looking
through a window and never being on the other
side of it, even though you know you belong,
even though your existence alone is enough
to break glass ceilings and shatter expectations.
see me.
don’t just look at me.
push away any preconceptions
you have of me, the notion
that you know me better
than i know myself.
see me.
not just in shades
of black and white,
but in the baby blues and pinks
i now drape myself in.
see me.
not who you knew
once upon a time,
but the person that lives
and breathes here and now.
see me.
for the glitter glistening
on my eyelids,
and the stardust
shining in my soul.
whether you acknowledge it or not,
whether you accept it or not,
i am who i am, and i am
so proud to finally
be able to say that.
YOU PRETENDING NOT TO SEE
DOESN’T MAKE IT CEASE TO BE.
spotted lanternfly
they tell us if we see ’em, kill ’em
on sight. stomp ’em, suck ’em up
with starbucks cups and freeze ’em
until their freckled flames flicker
and die. they say they’re invasive,
that they destroy the ecosystem,
but all i hear is that at any point
in time, we can decide that an entire
species is not worthy of its life,
even when we don’t fully understand it.
conservative values hypocrisy
they say
ban
books
ban
tiktok
ban
drag queens
ban
marriage equality
ban
abortion
ban
birth control
ban
pronouns
ban
chosen names
ban
gender-affirming care
ban
trans people from sports
ban
trans people from bathrooms
ban
trans people
ban
diversity
ban
inclusivity
ban
sex ed
ban
gender studies
ban
Black history
ban
american history
ban
critical race theory
ban
critical thinking
in the name of
protecting children
but they won’t say
ban
assault weapons
’cause “bans
don’t work.”
everything is fake
the earth is spinning faster
and time — the ultimate construct —
is up for debate. if 1.59 milliseconds
can upend how an entire society defines
what constitutes a day, then how
can one ever argue that gender
is some sort of universal truth?
EYESHADOW WAS MY SHIELD.
LIPSTICK IS MY SWORD.
let kids be kids
when
they say
“let kids be kids”
what they mean is
“let kids stay kids
forever” because
they’d rather
have a dead
kid than a
trans kid
eradicate
the year i went on hormones, 144 pieces of anti-trans
legislation were introduced in the united states.
the year i came out as a woman, 591 (and counting) pieces of
anti-trans legislation were introduced.
they call us “groomers,” “mutants,” and “imps.”
they say we should be “eradicated from public life entirely.”
they try to legislate us out of existence by taking away our
life-saving medication, banning pronouns and chosen names,
making it a crime to simply be trans in the presence of
children.
but no matter what laws they pass, no matter the
dehumanizing language they use to describe us, we will
always be here, queer, and living
unapologetically ourselves.
YOU’RE AFRAID
OF SOMETHING YOU REFUSE
TO UNDERSTAND.
I’M AFRAID
OF WHAT YOU’LL DO
OUT OF THAT IGNORANCE.
just keep rollin’
this boy who merely lived
grew up to be a woman who thrived,
and you can tweet from your castle,
drape yourself in the language
of the oppressor, become nameless
to the very same people who hid
in your words when they needed
an escape. but in this story, like any,
the best part is always when love
triumphs, and hate becomes nothing
more than a footnote in history.
until then, i’ll just keep rollin’.
pride 2023
i.
i put on my makeup first —
my usual smokey eye
accented by sharp wings,
bronzer to put some color
onto my ghostly ginger skin,
enough highlighter to stop
a terf in their tracks.
i line my lips and paint them
in my favorite shade,
so long summer, the irony
not lost on me that summer
hasn’t even officially begun yet.
then, i slip into my shapewear,
slide on my “support trans futures”
t-shirt and tie it over the waistband
of my black maxi skirt.
i style my hair in low spacebuns and
crown myself with a black sunhat.
in the full-length mirror, i admire
the work two years of hormones
put into helping me embrace
the person looking back at me.
dare i say, she’s even pretty cute.
ii.
i pull on my combat boots,
tie their purple laces,
and march with my wife
to the park in the heart of town,
past the cops blocking
the tent-lined streets,
past the picnic tables of people
enjoying the entertainment,
to our very first pride festival.
a group of older townies turn
their attention from the cover
band on stage to look me over
in a way as if to say, “look, it’s one
of them transgenders.” i’ve come
so far with accepting myself
that i sometimes forget that
even at pride, not everyone is
as accepting of who i have become
as i am. i start searching for escape
routes and places to hide,
and settle on taking a seat at
the queerest looking table
with hopes of blending in.
iii.
we get up and briefly check
out pride flag adorned vendors,
take selfies to celebrate
ourselves and our queerness,
get cupcakes and sparkling
water, and then make our escape.
as we turn the corner, a man
in a midlife-crisis-mobile
barks “jesus christ” loud enough
to cut through the humming of
a dozen car engines lined up at
the intersection, and i don’t know
if he’s cursing me or the traffic,
but instantly i am a teen again, walking
home from the mall, getting called
a “faggot” by the cars speeding by.
the difference is, i didn’t understand
myself back then the way i do now,
so teen me brushes it off, while
present day me fights back the sting
of tears the whole way home, grateful
for the protection of big sunglasses.
iv.
i find myself back in front of the mirror,
knowing i had one more place to go to,
contemplating makeup wipes
and an outfit change. i once again
come face to face with my reflection
but this time, struggle to meet her
twinkling, tear-filled eyes, and i think
about the closet she had to scratch and claw
her way out of, about how she spent years
talking herself out of being who she is.
so for her, i choke down my fear, brush
the tears from my cheeks, and put the
makeup wipes back in the cabinet.
for her, i decide that hate does not get to win.
hate does not get to shove me back into that closet.
hate does not get to talk me out of being myself.
i decide that today, tomorrow, and every day after,
trans joy wins.
transmute
i am no god but i can perform miracles just as well.
watch as i turn whiskey into water — forgiving
the killing thing for its sins and making it holy.
watch as i turn a casket into a home — cleansing
from it the stench of death by filling it with life.
watch as i turn a human into a wonder — reclaiming
this leaden body and transforming it into something golden.
watch as i die and come back to life — resurrecting
into the person i was always meant to be.
regular
i decided to become a ghost at my old haunts.
out of sight, out of mind, as they like to say.
if i disappeared long enough, perhaps they’d
forget my old name/my old face. i started driving
the opposite way down the coastline to another
coffee shop, one where the baristas never knew
who i used to be. and it was easy. too easy.
but that’s the thing — the easy path is rarely the
most rewarding one. and it wasn’t until i
came back to my coffee shop, and heard my
favorite barista call my name, that i had
finally realized what i was missing out on.
dead names stay dead
i hate confrontation, which means i let a lot of shit slide. while keeping the peace at the expense of myself is not something i’m unfamiliar with, there comes a point where peace isn’t enough, where people-pleasing becomes less like putting out a fire and more like throwing gasoline on top of it, and my patience has grown wick-thin. it’s been over three years since i burned my dead name to ashes and let them blow away with the last chilly wind as winter transitioned into spring. i understand more than anyone that change can only come with time, but time isn’t some magical entity that does all the work for you — an effort still needs to be made. you can plant seeds in the newly warmed soil, but unless you water them and nourish them, they may never fully blossom. to speak my name to my face, to tell me you support me no matter what, while keeping my dead name alive and well when you think i can’t hear it being uttered, is not that effort, and it’s not supportive — it’s barren ground that will never sustain anything meaningful, and i will not be made to feel responsible for the death of anything someone chooses to plant there.
text me when ur sober
i’m getting drunk on early mornings.
waking up with the sun, watching her
rise over the atlantic and paint the sky
in every single color — even the ones
i can’t see. a warm mug of coffee in one
hand as i pet our cats with the other.
quiet wrapped around me like a cardigan.
there is a certain stillness that exists only
in these moments, a stillness thrumming
with energy, with possibility, with life,
and it’s so damn intoxicating in a way
that whiskey-fueled nights can never be.
MAKE ME GOLDEN LIKE AN AUTUMN SUNRISE.
“we are the jack-o’-lanterns in july”
i hate the summer, but
you help me find the magic in it —
pumpkin spice coffee in the morning
before pumpkin spice season has even begun.
iced lattes and early-afternoon drives while
singing fall out boy lyrics at the top of our lungs
through the tree-lined county roads.
two scoops of ice cream at the marina
while the sun paints us with golden strokes.
wandering through fields of sunflowers
in search of the one that shines the brightest
(even though all their faces turn to follow yours).
picking our own peaches and looking up
the different desserts we can make with them.
it’s not quite autumn, but it doesn’t have to be
when you and i are october personified.
safe space
before the poetry, there were two young adults who saw something about themselves in each other. there were two young adults who bonded through sarcasm and over heartbreak. there were two young adults who called each other their twin because they were so alike in so many ways. there were two young adults who were willing to kill the 650 miles between them to get to each other. 10 years later, and they are as in sync with each other as ever. and they feel safe enough to be entirely themselves around one another, but also safe enough to journey within themselves and practice the messy yet beautiful art of becoming. safe enough to continue becoming, even if it takes them to places they never thought they’d go, because they know the other will be waiting for them at the end, ready to take them by the hand and make the journey back home together.
FOREVER GROWING INTO OURSELVES.
FOREVER GROWING INTO EACH OTHER.
where you lead, i will follow
take me to the forest
where a chilly breeze is always blowin’
and the leaves stay forever golden
take me to the city
where the days are never the same
and nobody remembers our names
take me to the coast
of puberty: “are you a boy? or are you a girl?”
i would’ve chosen “girl” every single time.
the only time i call myself “she” is in my poetry
it’s easier when i remove myself from it, pretend who i’m
writing about isn’t me, or at least some distant version of me
who’s had a little more time to grow into herself. maybe if i
write it down enough times, i’ll start believing it.
existential
i want to live so much more life than we’re allowed to and i don’t know how to cope with it. there are nights where i stare up at the stars, look at my reflection in the moon, let the cool air chill me to my soul, and am burdened with how small i am compared to the universe even though it’s no small miracle that i am here. i am burdened with how society has siphoned away the miraculousness of it all by replacing the sun as the center of our solar system with the dollar bill. just as the universe is endlessly expanding beyond itself, i, too, have outgrown myself. i have outgrown homes and cities and states. i have outgrown a country, a society, a world that would rather see me dead than let me simply be. and though i haven’t outgrown the universe, i am certainly catching up to her.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
YOU ARE MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST SURVIVING.
screaming insecurities
imposter syndrome never really goes away,
a constant crisis that comes and goes just
to make us question our place in the world.
what does belonging look like? is it a state of
being accepted or just a state of being? i write,
but sometimes it doesn’t feel like i belong
on the same shelf as other writers, let alone
the same book. i’ve been on hormones for 11 months,
4 days, and 2 hours but sometimes i feel like
i’m not trans enough. it’s like always looking
through a window and never being on the other
side of it, even though you know you belong,
even though your existence alone is enough
to break glass ceilings and shatter expectations.
see me.
don’t just look at me.
push away any preconceptions
you have of me, the notion
that you know me better
than i know myself.
see me.
not just in shades
of black and white,
but in the baby blues and pinks
i now drape myself in.
see me.
not who you knew
once upon a time,
but the person that lives
and breathes here and now.
see me.
for the glitter glistening
on my eyelids,
and the stardust
shining in my soul.
whether you acknowledge it or not,
whether you accept it or not,
i am who i am, and i am
so proud to finally
be able to say that.
YOU PRETENDING NOT TO SEE
DOESN’T MAKE IT CEASE TO BE.
spotted lanternfly
they tell us if we see ’em, kill ’em
on sight. stomp ’em, suck ’em up
with starbucks cups and freeze ’em
until their freckled flames flicker
and die. they say they’re invasive,
that they destroy the ecosystem,
but all i hear is that at any point
in time, we can decide that an entire
species is not worthy of its life,
even when we don’t fully understand it.
conservative values hypocrisy
they say
ban
books
ban
tiktok
ban
drag queens
ban
marriage equality
ban
abortion
ban
birth control
ban
pronouns
ban
chosen names
ban
gender-affirming care
ban
trans people from sports
ban
trans people from bathrooms
ban
trans people
ban
diversity
ban
inclusivity
ban
sex ed
ban
gender studies
ban
Black history
ban
american history
ban
critical race theory
ban
critical thinking
in the name of
protecting children
but they won’t say
ban
assault weapons
’cause “bans
don’t work.”
everything is fake
the earth is spinning faster
and time — the ultimate construct —
is up for debate. if 1.59 milliseconds
can upend how an entire society defines
what constitutes a day, then how
can one ever argue that gender
is some sort of universal truth?
EYESHADOW WAS MY SHIELD.
LIPSTICK IS MY SWORD.
let kids be kids
when
they say
“let kids be kids”
what they mean is
“let kids stay kids
forever” because
they’d rather
have a dead
kid than a
trans kid
eradicate
the year i went on hormones, 144 pieces of anti-trans
legislation were introduced in the united states.
the year i came out as a woman, 591 (and counting) pieces of
anti-trans legislation were introduced.
they call us “groomers,” “mutants,” and “imps.”
they say we should be “eradicated from public life entirely.”
they try to legislate us out of existence by taking away our
life-saving medication, banning pronouns and chosen names,
making it a crime to simply be trans in the presence of
children.
but no matter what laws they pass, no matter the
dehumanizing language they use to describe us, we will
always be here, queer, and living
unapologetically ourselves.
YOU’RE AFRAID
OF SOMETHING YOU REFUSE
TO UNDERSTAND.
I’M AFRAID
OF WHAT YOU’LL DO
OUT OF THAT IGNORANCE.
just keep rollin’
this boy who merely lived
grew up to be a woman who thrived,
and you can tweet from your castle,
drape yourself in the language
of the oppressor, become nameless
to the very same people who hid
in your words when they needed
an escape. but in this story, like any,
the best part is always when love
triumphs, and hate becomes nothing
more than a footnote in history.
until then, i’ll just keep rollin’.
pride 2023
i.
i put on my makeup first —
my usual smokey eye
accented by sharp wings,
bronzer to put some color
onto my ghostly ginger skin,
enough highlighter to stop
a terf in their tracks.
i line my lips and paint them
in my favorite shade,
so long summer, the irony
not lost on me that summer
hasn’t even officially begun yet.
then, i slip into my shapewear,
slide on my “support trans futures”
t-shirt and tie it over the waistband
of my black maxi skirt.
i style my hair in low spacebuns and
crown myself with a black sunhat.
in the full-length mirror, i admire
the work two years of hormones
put into helping me embrace
the person looking back at me.
dare i say, she’s even pretty cute.
ii.
i pull on my combat boots,
tie their purple laces,
and march with my wife
to the park in the heart of town,
past the cops blocking
the tent-lined streets,
past the picnic tables of people
enjoying the entertainment,
to our very first pride festival.
a group of older townies turn
their attention from the cover
band on stage to look me over
in a way as if to say, “look, it’s one
of them transgenders.” i’ve come
so far with accepting myself
that i sometimes forget that
even at pride, not everyone is
as accepting of who i have become
as i am. i start searching for escape
routes and places to hide,
and settle on taking a seat at
the queerest looking table
with hopes of blending in.
iii.
we get up and briefly check
out pride flag adorned vendors,
take selfies to celebrate
ourselves and our queerness,
get cupcakes and sparkling
water, and then make our escape.
as we turn the corner, a man
in a midlife-crisis-mobile
barks “jesus christ” loud enough
to cut through the humming of
a dozen car engines lined up at
the intersection, and i don’t know
if he’s cursing me or the traffic,
but instantly i am a teen again, walking
home from the mall, getting called
a “faggot” by the cars speeding by.
the difference is, i didn’t understand
myself back then the way i do now,
so teen me brushes it off, while
present day me fights back the sting
of tears the whole way home, grateful
for the protection of big sunglasses.
iv.
i find myself back in front of the mirror,
knowing i had one more place to go to,
contemplating makeup wipes
and an outfit change. i once again
come face to face with my reflection
but this time, struggle to meet her
twinkling, tear-filled eyes, and i think
about the closet she had to scratch and claw
her way out of, about how she spent years
talking herself out of being who she is.
so for her, i choke down my fear, brush
the tears from my cheeks, and put the
makeup wipes back in the cabinet.
for her, i decide that hate does not get to win.
hate does not get to shove me back into that closet.
hate does not get to talk me out of being myself.
i decide that today, tomorrow, and every day after,
trans joy wins.
transmute
i am no god but i can perform miracles just as well.
watch as i turn whiskey into water — forgiving
the killing thing for its sins and making it holy.
watch as i turn a casket into a home — cleansing
from it the stench of death by filling it with life.
watch as i turn a human into a wonder — reclaiming
this leaden body and transforming it into something golden.
watch as i die and come back to life — resurrecting
into the person i was always meant to be.
regular
i decided to become a ghost at my old haunts.
out of sight, out of mind, as they like to say.
if i disappeared long enough, perhaps they’d
forget my old name/my old face. i started driving
the opposite way down the coastline to another
coffee shop, one where the baristas never knew
who i used to be. and it was easy. too easy.
but that’s the thing — the easy path is rarely the
most rewarding one. and it wasn’t until i
came back to my coffee shop, and heard my
favorite barista call my name, that i had
finally realized what i was missing out on.
dead names stay dead
i hate confrontation, which means i let a lot of shit slide. while keeping the peace at the expense of myself is not something i’m unfamiliar with, there comes a point where peace isn’t enough, where people-pleasing becomes less like putting out a fire and more like throwing gasoline on top of it, and my patience has grown wick-thin. it’s been over three years since i burned my dead name to ashes and let them blow away with the last chilly wind as winter transitioned into spring. i understand more than anyone that change can only come with time, but time isn’t some magical entity that does all the work for you — an effort still needs to be made. you can plant seeds in the newly warmed soil, but unless you water them and nourish them, they may never fully blossom. to speak my name to my face, to tell me you support me no matter what, while keeping my dead name alive and well when you think i can’t hear it being uttered, is not that effort, and it’s not supportive — it’s barren ground that will never sustain anything meaningful, and i will not be made to feel responsible for the death of anything someone chooses to plant there.
text me when ur sober
i’m getting drunk on early mornings.
waking up with the sun, watching her
rise over the atlantic and paint the sky
in every single color — even the ones
i can’t see. a warm mug of coffee in one
hand as i pet our cats with the other.
quiet wrapped around me like a cardigan.
there is a certain stillness that exists only
in these moments, a stillness thrumming
with energy, with possibility, with life,
and it’s so damn intoxicating in a way
that whiskey-fueled nights can never be.
MAKE ME GOLDEN LIKE AN AUTUMN SUNRISE.
“we are the jack-o’-lanterns in july”
i hate the summer, but
you help me find the magic in it —
pumpkin spice coffee in the morning
before pumpkin spice season has even begun.
iced lattes and early-afternoon drives while
singing fall out boy lyrics at the top of our lungs
through the tree-lined county roads.
two scoops of ice cream at the marina
while the sun paints us with golden strokes.
wandering through fields of sunflowers
in search of the one that shines the brightest
(even though all their faces turn to follow yours).
picking our own peaches and looking up
the different desserts we can make with them.
it’s not quite autumn, but it doesn’t have to be
when you and i are october personified.
safe space
before the poetry, there were two young adults who saw something about themselves in each other. there were two young adults who bonded through sarcasm and over heartbreak. there were two young adults who called each other their twin because they were so alike in so many ways. there were two young adults who were willing to kill the 650 miles between them to get to each other. 10 years later, and they are as in sync with each other as ever. and they feel safe enough to be entirely themselves around one another, but also safe enough to journey within themselves and practice the messy yet beautiful art of becoming. safe enough to continue becoming, even if it takes them to places they never thought they’d go, because they know the other will be waiting for them at the end, ready to take them by the hand and make the journey back home together.
FOREVER GROWING INTO OURSELVES.
FOREVER GROWING INTO EACH OTHER.
where you lead, i will follow
take me to the forest
where a chilly breeze is always blowin’
and the leaves stay forever golden
take me to the city
where the days are never the same
and nobody remembers our names
take me to the coast
