#trans women's poetry

[fixing-bad-posts]

trans women r real women trans men wow honey

[crystalthayerr7]

Suck it or leave it?

[baileyjayy1]

Your girlfriend with something extra. 🍆 you like?

[fixing-bad-posts]

Women can be transgender.

[fixing-bad-posts]

trans women are just sexy.

[fixing-bad-posts]

trans women ❤ i just smile

[dive-nire]

so much evil can be mothered in my country, as well as good, and how there’s no such thing as compartmentalizing either. 

How can I love a place that has hurt me this deeply? I’m desolate if I stop, and desolate if I continue—I tell myself, as though I can choose.

- dive nire, METANOIA

[ceejthedeej]

[outfitqueer]

In my Trans skin, where dreams softly play, There’s a rhythm that feels just right. Every curve and whisper of my way, Speaks a truth in the quiet night.

Reblog, like, and follow along for more content

@outfitqueer 🏳️‍⚧️

[mayashwood]

A Pervert's Prayer

My sacred mutilation

Is to you an act of war

So what about all the pieces

You cut off before?

I was born from hatred

I was born in flames

I will know no fucking fear

And I am done with shame

I can take your punishment

And match it blow for blow

You can't show me any hell

I don't already know

I don't want your tolerance

I dont want your lies

You belong to yesterday

And you will fucking die

We are from the future

We're remembered there in song

The time to choose has been and gone

And you chose fucking wrong

These Articles of Faith

Which to you are Marks of Sin

Are written in the scars we make

On consecrated skin

Take the flesh back from God

Make yourself anew

You don't owe him anything

You belong to you

[smolbacon102]

Love y'all 😘

[hedgehog-troops]

somebody save me

[opheliasnotdead]

In my dream

We are having coffee

at a shop downtown,

maybe Springfield.

You look at me

over too much creamer

and smile

And all at once

I see the years

in a backwards carpet roll,

spanning

the distance between us

Thanksgiving burgers

at 29 palms

and tears over acrid cigarettes

on the torn screen porch,

And god,

I miss you.

I wish

I could tell you

that you really look like

You

now

That I am so happy

to see your insides

Bloom

across your once fearful skin

and your chipped teeth

Braving

the sun that has always

loved your freckled surface

even before

You

did.

I know I will wake

distant

and aching

at that frayed ribbon

Tug

in my heart,

The one that lingers

around the perfect soft curve

of your ankle

as you move steadily

Away

But here

Now

in the verdant warmth

of my sleeping brain

I can finally tell you

I am

Proud,

so

Proud,

Of

You.

[squids-comics]

The Stone Sculptor

Michelangelo once said "Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it."

For years I lived as stone, feeling the statue within me but never being able to showcase it. I'd look in the mirror, expecting to find the fine features I envisioned, only to be met with cold, hard stone. It was devastating, leaving my heart as hard as my reflection. Everything felt dark and cold, as cold as the surface of the stone that stared back at me. But that was not the end of it.

In the past year, I have become a sculptor. Each day I chip away at the stone block I see before me, slowly uncovering the statue I know is in there, the statue that's always been there. It's a sluggish process, chipping the stone piece by little piece, day after day. But it is so rewarding.

Each day I look in the mirror and see a new feature of the statue carved into that same stone block. New eyes, seeing the world for the first time. Skin, ready to feel something besides the cold embrace of stone. And the smile. The smile, something I never expected to see in that old block of stone, proudly presented front and center. It's so bright and warm, shining like a jewel. No rock could keep it contained now.

Sculpting is a laborious task. It's not easy and can even be quite frightening at times. An inch carved can feel like a mile. But that stone is just so suffocating and cold that it needs to come off. I am still more stone than statue, but I anxiously wait for the day I can fully shed the stone's weight and show the world the beautiful statue I've always known to be inside me. And each day I get closer to my goal, carving more of that stone away. Each day I take one step closer to freedom.

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Hey everyone! Thank you so much for reading! I know that right now is a pretty scary time to be trans, especially in the US, so I wanted to take the time to reflect on my journey. I wanted to phrase gender dysphoria and transition in a way that anyone could understand and empathize with, and I thought this old Michelangelo quote would be a good metaphor to use! But most importantly, I want to give the community hope. It's something we're sorely lacking these days. Transitioning has been one of the hardest and scariest things I've ever had to do, but I had to do it. My life has been so much better in just about every way since I started living as my authentic self, and I hope everyone that can relate to this story finds that same joy and validation too someday. We are facing tough times ahead of us, but we're tough people. We've weathered worse storms. We will make it!!

Thank you again for reading and stay safe, Evelyn :)

[mancinigia]

reflections of becoming

In the quiet of her room, she stands before the mirror, a reflection fragmented by the shards of her past, each piece a whisper of who she’s told she should be, each fragment a cry of who she knows she is.

Her body, a battleground of expectations and truth, a canvas painted with society’s harsh strokes, yet beneath the surface, a vibrant hue, a color that defies the gray of misunderstanding.

She walks through streets where eyes linger too long, where whispers turn to daggers, and silence roars, where the world demands she fit into its mold, yet her heart beats a rhythm that breaks through the noise.

In the depths of night, when shadows embrace, she finds solace in the moon’s gentle glow, a reminder that even in darkness, there is light, a soft beacon guiding her through the storm.

Her voice, once a murmur lost in the wind, now rises with the dawn, a song of defiance, each note a declaration of her existence, each verse a testament to her truth.

She is a symphony of becoming, a melody that transcends the binary’s chains, in every step, a dance of resilience, in every breath, a whisper of freedom.

For she is not the mask she was forced to wear, not the silence she was taught to bear, but a woman emerging from the shadows, embracing her reflection, whole and radiant.

~ Gia Mancini

[fixing-bad-posts]

[A tweet edited whiteout poetry style with a geometric pattern in shades of pink, resulting in the following text]

—

If you’re a trans woman and refer to yourself as “trans femme”, or some variation of that, please understand that is swag.

Submitted by @autisticfordprefect