On Being a Real Writer
I suppose I spent so long worrying about being a real man, or even a real trans man, that I haven’t found much time to worry about being a real writer.
I am a man who doesn’t have a cock. In fact, I am a man who has
Latest
Containment
Menstrual products, chest binders, and power.
Death Workshop
We speak of what we want
in our next life, the lacks in this one.
More adventurous, one says. More kind.
I say, I wish I’d spoken up more.
We draw line charts
of our fulfillment over time.
Then she says close your eyes,
picture your own death.
We
Pretending
For a while my mouth didn’t close
and I had to eat pizza with a fork.
This is where people interrupt and say
what do you mean, your mouth didn’t close?
and I take my two hands, wrists together,
fingers apart, and show how my jaw
closed in
At the Gynecologist
What makes me cringe isn’t
saying how many men I’ve fucked
or lifting my shirt to reveal
hairy breasts that she—trans-competent—
resolutely only calls “chest.”
It’s what slips out when
she presses powdered-latex fingers
into the flesh over my heart:
“I kind of want to try
In the Witch Shop
I was a Buddhist then, and never asked
for anything. I chanted each day, Desires
are inexhaustible, I vow to put an end
to them and I wanted to be pregnant
with a fierceness beyond reason.
Enough to stop T and let my body go alien,
enough to let countless
Three Steps to Asking Great Questions about Data — Even if You’re Not a Numbers Person
A secret about me is that I’m not originally a numbers person. I got good at understanding data because I thought it was important in order for me to think critically about the information I was given.
I hear many people say, “You can lie with numbers,” which is