dysphoric incantation of distress

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem about coming to grips with gender identity and transphobia.

Submitted: May 25, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 25, 2017




Dysphoric Incantation of Distress

I am a woman.

I have a penis.

You can see how that could be confusing, right?


Of course, femininity is a social construct,

Though we like to treat a woman like an object,

This construction’s more figurative,

The prevailing view more ablative.


My body doesn’t define my identity,

There’s room for you and I aplenty,

Instead you mock me,

Degrade me,

Try to dissuade me

From joining your cause

Because you hate me?


TERFs can have their own turf,

But someday we must reach common ground,

I’m sticking around,

Until they put me in the ground,

And you’re digging my tomb!

You doom me to oblivion,

And I won’t stand for it.


I won’t stand for a president that doesn’t believe I exist,

That believes I’m dangerous,

A sexual predator because I wear a dress.


I won’t stand for so-called “feminists” denying my entry,

Into the girls club of femininity,

Instead viewing me as the enemy.


I won’t stand for all the dysphoric self-loathing,

The assumptions about me based on my clothing.

The doors held upon for “real women” closing.

I viewed myself as a lump of flesh,

With the wrong setup so I was useless,

I gave myself up under duress,

You see, I was forced to confess:


I am a woman.

I have a penis.

Please don’t look at me that way.


The way he looked at me,

The way she looked at me,

The way they looked at me,

The way I looked at me.


Transmisogyny meets good ol’ hypocrisy,

Dismissed by others as an idle fantasy?

People who were supposed to be friends to me,

Saying I’m a disgrace to the label LGBT?


Just because I’m not out doesn’t mean I’m not here,

Just because I pass doesn’t mean I’m not queer,

So I gave up the facade with one last hoorah,

And found myself in tears.


“Dear Lord,

Ain’t I a woman?”


Woke up the next morning, left the house,

Said I’d be back after I had come out,

Gone so long they began to doubt,

Until I came back with a shout:


“I am a woman.

I have a penis.

Get used to it!”


Can’t pay for the surgery,

Doesn’t mean I’m committing perjury,

I have no mental injury,

I’m just-- me.


If Plath came back and ate men like air,

Maybe I can find some solace there,

Not in misandry,

But in avoiding my own toxic masculinity.


I am not a phoenix, however,

A metaphor admittedly passing clever,

I am not reborn,

I am merely who I was born to be.


I am a woman.

I have a penis.

My name is Ansleis.

© Copyright 2020 Ansleis Falxmion. All rights reserved.

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