self-love

bare hands

im suppoda touch myself right now i dont really wan tew
otha dan ta help me sleep
& i sleep all day

cuz sumbawdy luvs me
in my dreamz
sumebawdy ax me ta dance & not just shake my ass

17 billion niggas floatin on green clouds are chantin
my name
demandin dat i am freed

dat my wrist can electric slide down da isle smotherin

“im just lookin ta fuck”

ta a pulp
da bastardized tale

“where you wan me ta nut?”

iz da question dat ion eva answa i opened my mouf
i swallow
i breave

i sang

“Oh lawd I wan tew move”

i ax fo fogiveness
afta
i alwayz feel ashamed
ta letta nigga i barely know but remind me ov my favah slide in me
den leave

one gud woman

wifa nappy afro
caught on niggaz opinionz
avoidz intellectually knowin haself
& proudly livez wit complicated emotionz


This poem is an excerpt from Meyer’s newest poetry book/offering African Booty Scratcha…lovin da ashy-blaq fat chall wif yella teef, peasy head & a broken smilwhich can be purchased on Amazon here.

 

More about the book: Mayers second poetry offering is another mile stone in literary expression, another fossilized exploration in the identity of Blackness. This time around he deals directly with the conditions and experiences of dark skinned babies, children, teens and adults. He rhythmically lays out the beauty and love dark skinned people are normally denied and the provisions they are always offered too. He uses the Black vernacular to write through feelings and welcomes the reader to challenge their ideas in language and the styling of beauty. As always, it is clear that Mayers’ masterpiece is not written from a distance: indeed, it is up close and oh so personal.

Spiritual Self Portraits: The Creative Process of Embodying Oneself

At some point in our lives, being Queer forces us to engage with negative messages from family, religion and the larger culture.  Many of us are not taught how to gain access to or trust our deepest emotions and intuitions that might shed much-needed light and healing. Without validation, those negative  messages can make us question our desires and identifications — and, sadly, sometimes we ingest that negativity. Although the ways in which we seek our truths are different for each of us, many of us spend a lifetime discovering who we are, what we have to offer the world and how to express that best as Queer creative, spiritual, human beings. Here I share a portion of my journey via the interaction of art with my own body and how that brings up new questions, pathways, and creative expression. 

30 years ago I clip out a photo of this powerful sculpture from a magazine.  But I neglect to include the artists’ name or its title*, so I don’t know anything about the image — except that it speaks to me. 

Four jesters, adorned with only striped body-art and tasseled hair are in various poses; I see each has a different body position, gaze and perspective. It seemed to me that while searching, each jester feels at ease and content in their physical body, with an inner secret, a wry sense of humor — and an open, curious nature.

Pride and Fear

Photo by Pond 5 Stock Photos

I’ve tried to write this piece on Pride about a dozen times. When I first started to write it, I thought it would be easy to just describe the road to the Pride I feel and how I have become more comfortable with expressing who I am, openly and honestly.

But as I started writing, I came to a startling realization: I still struggle with the idea of Pride and that it is so much more complex than just proclaiming who I am and living as that person. Pride isn’t just a feeling, it is an action and a process that I have to work at every single day. I am confronted daily with the choice to stand up proud or to shrivel into the background, passing as a straight woman when I am neither.

A Love Letter To My HRT

It’s been six months since the last time I had access to my hormone replacement therapy. Though I was already prescribed and had been on testosterone since 2016, when I moved to a new state no doctor would continue my prescription. Until now…

To my HRT,

Hi.

It’s been awhile.

I’m sorry we haven’t seen each other since October of 2018.  I know you’ve been waiting for me and I didn’t mean to keep you in suspense for so long.

I feel like I owe you an explanation.

Long story short – I moved. Long story long – I moved to a place where the reception was really bad. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to see you – it’s just that any channel I tried to reach you through was static. I don’t know what you did to piss off a whole bunch of old red state doctors, therapists, nurse practitioners, and endocrinologists, but they really, reallydon’t know what to do when I bring up your name. Every day they cut another line and the frequency got a little fuzzier between you and I until finally there was just silence.

Justification

I won’t to be your princess

I rule my own damn castle.

 

/I refuse to be your statistic/

I am flesh, blood, bone, human.

Hear me fucking roar.

 

Don’t make me the object

of your hidden desire, sheathed

neatly, behind excuses

and defenses,

 

you paint them like I give a shit

or asked for this

or asked for you ––

I fucking didn’t.

 

It’s not me who begged for the validation

of your desire,

didn’t ask to press my stomach to yours in defeat

at the gravesite where you bury

your secrets like me,

 

I’m not your therapist,

won’t fix your broken wing

won’t justify myself to you.

 

Today

for the last time

she will make her bed in defeat

 

Tomorrow

for the first time

she will raise her arms to the heavens instead

 

She will live

with no justification.

Little Gay Comix: #3 – Reminder

Take care of yourselves, friends!

A Girl’s Lunchbox

First grade, first day, six years old. I have golden locks that fall to my chin and a pink shirt. My lunchbox, soft fabric, is covered in tiny purple and blue and red flowers. I place it in my cubby with my backpack. There’s probably a sandwich inside. Pretzels, apple slices, a bottle of water. It’s a normal lunchbox. I’m a normal kid; this is a normal first day.

So when we go to lunch I’m surprised at the angry voice that comes from across the room.

“You got a girl shirt and a girl lunchbox.” Forgetting these words, or their impact, is not an option for me.

Angie is a tall girl with plastic clips in her hair and a shirt not too different from mine. She is well-liked by everyone, even the teacher. Her voice, the cutting edge of her words, take me aback. She’s not the first person to police my expression, and she’s not the last. But it is a delicate moment of first-day fragility. I am scared. And because I am different, I’m vulnerable too.

Shame. Shame is what I feel. Shame for who I am and the clothes I wear. I put my lunchbox back into my cubby without eating and I fold my arms across my shirt for the rest of the day. I feel like I’ve made some crucial mistake. I feel like a joke.

 

Fat & Trans: Celebrating the Double-Dysphoric Body

Between being trans and being fat, I’ve felt a “double dysphoria” when it comes to my body. It’s time to spread love for the fat trans body!

As a trans man, I am often fed by the media who I am supposed to be and how I am supposed to look.

As a fat person, I am often fed by the media who I am supposed to be and how I am supposed to look.

Between the two, I really feel like I can’t win.

I have been dealing with some form of self doubt and body dysphoria for my entire life. Something about the skin I’m in hasn’t felt quite right. It causes me to doubt that people can be attracted to me because I don’t fit the categories they wish me to fit. I’m afraid I’m not “man” enough because I have breasts. However, I’m also afraid I’m not “human” enough because I weigh over 200 pounds and stand at 5’2.

Let me explain.

across the aisle

i fell in love with my doppelgänger on a bus

you were older, far more wise,

prepared for life and everfine.

 

i fell in love with my doppelgänger on a bus

we had doppelgänger rust hair

and an old doppelgängers stare.

 

i fell in love with my doppelgänger on a bus

i saw our future in your eyes-

did you see back it in mine?

 

i fell in love with my doppelgänger on a bus

we never spoke and parted ways;

i lost myself, my love, that day.

You Deserve To Exist

I know what it’s like to be,

Queer & Afraid.

They say you are strong,

Brave.

But right now, you are not.

It’s okay to take shelter

In the haven of your own mind.

It’s true what they say about the closet.

Sometimes it’s easier to hide in the dark.

 

But the sun will rise,

The stars will shine.

Everyone who has feared,

Just as you have,

Has looked at the same sky.

Your eyes illuminate with wonder

Everytime you look up.

The earth will continue to move

And so will you.

 

I am your refuge.

I am here:

To listen to your words

To feel your pain

To love you.

 

Life is a kaleidoscope of memories.

Fragments of good and bad

Spun into one another,

Colliding and morphing with every twist and turn.

It looks like broken glass

Illuminated by colors and shapes

Swirling into one another.

And it’s beautiful.

 

Don’t forgot:

The only acceptance you truly need is your own.

A heart full of love shines brighter

Than a heart full of hate.

Find solace in yourself.

Be kind to your body.

Though it may be threaded

With fear.

 

Remember to feel.

You deserve what is good.

You cannot see beauty without ugly.

You cannot see strength without fear.

Life is bountiful of hope

No matter how treacherous they journey may be.

 

You are a living being. You deserve to exist.