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Part One: To Cis Readers
I refuse to listen to your stories.
You ask for my patience, but I’ve spent decades hearing the same things.
Home renovations, cruises, your privilege.
You whine of homelessness and crime,
You’re the ones stealing, and we have nothing.
Left. To give.
Do you know how many times I wish I could scream in your face?
Do you know how many identities I’ve had to erase?
Stop trying to relate. Listen hard, hold your tongue. For once.
I’ll keep creating. Artistic expression is my rebellion.
And I’m not the only one with rage to share.
Your system keeps us poor, broken, in chronic pain.
We need housing, shelter, food, friends, family, and play.
Above all, an end to back breaking labor.
Us, on the margins, find our own ways to survive.
And will not repeat your mistakes, or we’ll die.
No more masking, no neurotypical rules and exhaustion.
Have a peek in my life, maybe you’ll see what you’re missing…
Part Two: Family Dinner
At my house, we play, we laugh, and we tell jokes about you all,
“OMG though, did you see that cis-het at the mall”
Silly neurotypicals, running the rat race, afraid to be like us,
With joy expressed in hands, moving bodies, sometimes faces,
No eye contact is needed, to be known in our places.
“Nice gender you got there, did your mom and dad pick it out for you?”
“I don’t mind straight people; I just wish they wouldn’t do it in public.”
“They call us groomers? Have they looked at the statistics? They might want
to go after the church if they really want to protect kids.”
We all have our own stories, but one thing we have in common,
We never fit into your system, one way or another.
They tell us about that scene they had last night,
I tell her about my painting in the light.
Over there, by my chair, I can’t stand for hours.
We talk of chronic pain, rest as resistance, and our past lives.
The ones we escaped from when we lost all we had.
Money, power, privilege, friends, family, jobs,
Respect by a world with so many claws.
We laugh at our trauma and hold each other when we cry,
We drink to the gods, and hail Satan as well.
They teach me to how to survive without money,
And I teach them how to express anger safely.
We invite over friends, and laugh as we joke,
About the darkest of traumas, in order to cope.
And as we do, we heal, for we are no longer alone,
My new family doesn’t seem to care how much I own.
I don’t have to be perfect, I don’t have to hide,
And when I can’t speak, they wait for my mind,
To catch up, to set boundaries, to take space or lean in.
And it’s always okay to say “no” with my kin.
We raise up our glasses and we add to fires
We praise our paragons, practice magic, and build funeral pyres.
For growth, peace, and community; we lift up our dead,
We remember the fallen and try to drown out our dread.
We prepare for the darkness, known and unknown,
Winter is coming so we fortify our homes.
We share what we have: food, drink, and time.
We take care of those struggling and receive care in kind.
It truly is better here on the other side, join the anarchists,
queers, trans, neurodivergents, crips, leftists, and witches.
Imagine what it would be like if you left your cage.
Do it. You won’t.