Stroke of Midnight
Even in my dreams people stare,
misgender, and dead-name me. I am never
a man or woman, but trans, yet not trans
enough. Faltered hormones, hormones but no
surgery, a male body but my hips suffocating
inside the black claw of a pencil skirt,
the seam bursting should I even think
Even in my dreams, where I can be
anyone, I am cowardice personified
into a hunchbacked chimera wheezing
and limping, dragging my own half-amputated
feet. I am featherless wings.
I am a phoenix
still flaming. I am flames licking
the air, searching for my history,
and hungry. Or maybe I am the dust
beneath. Yes, unswept, that is me.
I am the dust
and the still-bleeding feet.
This poem was published in Beyond Queer Words, an LGBTQ anthology by Beyond Words, July 2020