"Tranny, faggot."
These are words I hear from men who think I am nothing.
As a butch woman I am dealt these cards,
and I am so eternally grateful for them.
I'm so grateful for my small breasts,
for my short hair,
for my masculine features.
Because the hateful eyes of men keep those same eyes from seeing my beauty
and twisting it and warping it into an image that I detest.
With my masculine ways
I avoid their lecherous gaze.
Their stares don't undress me
the way they undress my female friends.
They don't feel they own me
the way they feel the right
to place their hand on a shoulder,
(or a waist, or a hip, or a thigh)
to smack an ass
and whistle with crass.
I will never be seen like that,
and I am eternally grateful for the fact that
my form of oppression is a privilege
when compared to the other side of the same coin
I'm glad to be thought of as nothing
(it's far better than being seen as something).
YOU ARE READING
The Listening
PoetryA collection of half-way poetry, full of words better left unsaid.
