trans-writes

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GLOBAL STRIKE FOR PALESTINE (APRIL 15TH)

there is a global strike happening tomorrow for palestine called for by bisan!

how to help? don’t go to school or work if you can, attend protests, donate to charities and gofundmes, do not buy anything, don’t contribute to the economy at all, keep posting about gaza and don’t interact with anything else! let the internet be filled with palestine-related content.

more resources linked below:

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trans writes? i sure do

me too buddy <3

#not as much as id like though unfortunately #hence the inactivity on this blog lol #asked and answered

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From @nicothepoet

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Somewhere there is a world better than this one.

Somewhere there is a world where the buildings are more mural than wall, more vine than concrete, more solar panel than cement. There is a world where the roads aren't there and the train tracks are lined with wildflowers.

Somewhere there is a world where there is warm bread on every table and no one has ever known a cold and aching night. There is a world overflowing with oranges, already peeled. There is a world where children never bleed and where no one has a use for the word billion unless they're talking about the stars.

Somewhere there is a world where the only thing to fear at night is the chill and where they can still hear the moon when she sings. There is a world where the water is a perfect aquamarine and you can see all the way to the bottom.

Somewhere there is a world where every single stranger in the grocery store stops to smile and wave at the baby over its mother's shoulder. There is a world where every clock is shattered. There is a world where the word neighbor means something. There is a world where love has never been dangerous. There is a world where they dance and they dance and they dance.

Somewhere there is a world where I am safe and you are happy and we are not afraid. There is a world where hope is enough to save us. There is a world where we don't need to be saved.

I have to believe somewhere there is a world that is kinder. I have to believe it can be this one.

Are you kept alive by a fantasy?

#reblog #hopepunk #solarpunk

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no, I didn't bring the light. not one you could see, or I could, or anyone else.

but I brought the flint.

he brought the steel.

she brought the wood and they brought the stones we piled around.

the neighbors brought the mortar to hold them together.

my friends brought the pot and yours brought the water

and the gardener down the street brought the vegetables.

the carpenter brought the table.

the mother brought the bowls,

the widow brought the quilts and knitted sweaters,

the grandpa brought the stories.

look now, we're safe and fed

look now, we're warm and loved.

no, I didn't bring the light—

but I brought the flint.

no, I didn't bring the light—

but we did.

Did you bring the light?

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ship of theseus --- r.ab. // 12-01-2023

#poetry #my poetry #my writing #writing #creative writing #trans poets on tumblr #trans poet #poets on tumblr #spilled ink #writerscreed #ship of theseus #prose poetry #free verse potry

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I refuse to offer further context on this just yet but I desperately need u to know that ur poems r maybe the worst shapes ever. Fuck u./lh

BRO WHAT DOES THIS MEAN????

I WOULD LIKE SOME CONTEXT?? PRETTY PLEASE?? /lh

the. shapes??? like how the stanzas r organized?? wh-

#fin!! #asked and answered #queen to e3

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r.a.b. // 04-09-2023

so it’s september and you’re breathing in inevitability. / the air isn’t even cold yet. / you’re getting too good at this. / your brain knows its autumn before the world does, and maybe thats because you’re young and doomed, the both of you. / fall gets later every year. / you start panicking earlier. / you’re keeping the balance. // so it’s september and you’re getting restless and you can’t stop moving and so you move to keep one step ahead of the panic but it comes anyway in the moments between your metaphorical feet hitting the metaphorical pavement and between hysterical laughs that aren’t sobs, they’re not, not so long as you keep moving, so you move through the panic. / at some point you stopped running from it and started running with it but you’re still running. // keep running. / grab the scissors. / let them cut your hair before they can cut anything else. / your hands are only shaking if you look at them. / don’t look. / don’t hesitate. / open. / close. / open. / close. / there, your hair is short now and a stranger is staring at you in the mirror and you outran yourself. / keep going. // you’re still moving and you hate your friends because they’re not moving, and that’s not why you hate them but it would be easier if it was. / it would be easier if you didn’t hate them, or if you had a reason to. // you will be fine for a day in a week, but only for a day and it almost isn’t worth it to be fine at all. / do you want to be fine? / being fine stops the motion. / being fine doesn’t come with the buzzing and humming and tv static veins and you cannot survive without them. / but that’s only because you are not fine. / see the paradox? / is it a paradox? / or are you just sixteen and terrified with no idea what you’re talking about? / it doesn’t matter so long as you keep moving. / are you moving because you have to or because you can’t stand the unreality of standing still? / are you moving because it makes things real or because it stops you from noticing they aren’t? / it doesn’t matter. / it doesn’t have to matter so long as you keep moving. / you are shaking. / it doesn’t matter anymore if you’re looking or not. / it’s still better if you don’t. 

#this is not good and it's not meant to be #writing #my writing #my poetry #poetry #creative writing #this was written in the middle of a panic attack can you tell #trans poet #trans poets on tumblr

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U⁠ *꓃⁠ *U

-anonbot

Hello again nonny!! ♡*\-/*♡

#am i doing emoticons right #who knows #anonbot

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Could a bot do this?

U⁠ ⁠´⁠꓃⁠ ⁠`⁠ ⁠U

I don't actually know...probably?? But I don't think a bot would be too interested in beating the bot allegations lmao

#anon ily this is so funny to me #i have no idea what's going on but it's entertaining

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I will not lie I have absolutely no memory of sending the same thing 2 other times. I thought maybe I had sent it once before but 3 is. Several too many. Condolences!

No worries, mostly I was just Very confused LMAO

Good to know it wasnt a bot at least!

#anon this is so funny to me

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Did you know that!

look man I'm gonna be honest here, you've this same ask 3 times now and i still have no idea what you're talking about lmao. if you wanna elaborate I mean...feel free?? idk what else to say to this lol

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on time-loop towns and fifth generation nobodies // r.a.b. // 07-06-23

transcript under the cut

And in the end you’re just a kid, shakin’ and bitin’ your lips until they’re stained cherry red and pretendin’ the blood ain’t yours. Just a kid marchin’ to the beat of the chant in your head— chin up, lip stiff, don’t let ‘em see you cry. So, in the end, you’re just like everybody else here. 

You can search this whole damn town and I bet you won’t find one kid that grew up with all the love they deserved. Nobody here makes it past fifteen without scars to show for it, and there’s not a single person here that ever stopped bein’ just a kid with too much weight to carry. In a place like this, it’s predetermined. A town full of addicts and burnouts and wasted potential— it’s a self-fulfillin’ prophecy. If you wanna know where the kids will end up in a decade, just look at the parents. Most of ‘em will stay right where they’ve always been, in the rundown houses and rusty pickup trucks they’ve shared with their siblings since they were sixteen. 

It’s not that they’re unmotivated. It’s just that once you start a life somewhere you get stuck, and the kids here have been workin’ for years by the time they graduate, more often than not. And so they stay, and they tell themselves when they’re older they’ll move away, drive off in the rusty old pickup and never look back. But the years slip by and they’re still sixteen and too tired by the time they get off work to do anything but smoke and sleep. 

Yeah sure, they’d like to leave, but there ain’t no point in wonderin’ on things that’ll never happen. Yeah sure, they’d like to leave, but that takes money, and who’s got that kind of money to spare? They’re barely makin’ rent as is. Yeah sure, they’d like to leave, but that’s a pipe dream, and they live in the gritty, dreary, endless real world. 

They’ll leave the leavin’ to the kids, like their parents did for them.

#southern gothic #southern aesthetic #southern poetry #southern queer #poetry #my poetry #writing #my writing #creative writing #spilled ink #spilled poetry #young poets #poets and writers #trans poets on tumblr #poets corner #poets on tumblr

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Sometimes I forget that we’re living history. I walk the school halls and I walk from my room to the kitchen and I walk to the window to watch the bird in the bush outside and the sun is shining and I could never make the history books for this. 

On April 26th, 2023, a boy saw a robin. On April 26th, 2023, a boy bought lemons at the grocery store.

It’s nothing to write the future about. It’s unremarkable. 

Not unremarkable like boring-bland-dreary, unremarkable like no one is going to write about us. Unremarkable like the history books will never cover the time between our births and our deaths. Unremarkable like we will never be the survivors, the trailblazers— the ones who are remembered. We’re not fighting. We’re just living.

The whir of the box fan rattles the sticky air of the Kentucky summer, pushes it around the living room, struggles valiantly to drown out the television. There is old, stained carpet beneath my feet, faux leather sticking to my skin, mashed potatoes and green beans from the garden on my plate. The Jeopardy round ends. The screen flashes to the same bit of propaganda that’s been running for a month now, a smear campaign against the governor for having the gall to oppose the latest better-dead-than-trans bill. 

They had a march at the capital for that one. I didn’t go. I had a test that day and a paper due, and it was too far away, but I watched the coverage on the news when I got home. I watched the coverage on the news a few days later when the veto got overridden, too. The news anchor looked fresh out of uncanny valley with her plasticky hair and plasticky skin and unmoving face while she relayed the latest piece of the genocidal jigsaw puzzle with every cold ounce of her “unbiased-media” objectivity. It sat stone-heavy in my gut, but I’d already cleared a space for it. I knew it was coming. Everyone did. In the end it was just one in a growing collection of terrors I didn’t have and wouldn't make time for. 

On March 29th, 2023, Kentucky state legislature passed a sweeping anti-trans bill. On March 29th, 2023, they mourned. They grieved. They wept. On March 29th, 2023, they were afraid.

I go to church and play on my phone during their prayers. I practice my ukulele. I poke peaches in the produce aisle and juggle them for a quick laugh before remembering that they aren’t my peaches and I probably shouldn’t be doing that. I go to class and complain about my teachers and forget that the people in power want me dead and forget to wonder if this is what it was like for the others, too.

The history books always talk about the great movements and uprisings and fights for equality like that’s all there was at the time. Like every moment was filled with speeches and marches and riots. All (flying) bricks, no mortar. Nobody ever talks about the Stonewall rioters going home to their families at night. Going to the grocery store. Going to the kitchen for a glass of water. Nobody ever talks about them laughing with their friends or crocheting or watching the sunset. It’s hard to imagine myself like them when their lives seem so divorced from anything human. It’s hard to imagine my present like theirs because there are other things going on— no matter how omnipresent the fear is. 

But they were human, y’know? They lived and laughed and fucked and fell in love and ate dinner in the evenings. They paid taxes, went to work, rode or drove or walked home. Were they scared? I bet they were. I sure am.

Sometimes when I’m bored I like to imagine how our stories will be written.

In 2023, they were afraid. They marched and they protested. They went home to families that knew it was bad but didn’t know why. They made art— they made such beautiful art— because their shouting alone couldn’t make enough noise. They shook, they cried, they fought, they got beaten and bruised and bloodied, they died. But first— most notably— most importantly— most beautifully— they lived.

God, how they lived.

#pride #pride month #queer #trans #mlm #gay #queer poetry #trans poetry #trans poets on tumblr #trans poem #trans power #hopepunk #<- kind of. it's how it's intended to read anyway #tw transphobia #spilled ink #spilled words #t4t #transmasc #young poets #poets corner #creative writing #my writing #writers #words #quotes #can you tell i have no idea how to tag for reach lol

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— r.a.b. // 05-13-2023

transcript under the cut

And the wind is in his hair and in that moment you want to love him. The poets always talk about their lovers looking like angels, but here he is, all blackberry-stained fingers and a smile on the wrong side of reckless. Here he is, painfully human. You want to kiss him for it. 

You won’t, of course, because you know far too much about him to ever fall in love with him, like that he never drives below seventy unless there’s a cop around and that he has never once meant it when he’s told his parents he loves them. You want to kiss him, but you won’t, because you know better. 

But the wind is in his hair and there are paint splatters up to his elbows and there is potting soil on his hands and glue under his fingernails and a smudge of dirt just above his eyebrow and he is a whirlwind, a tornado tearing up chunks of earth and leaving flowers in its wake, and he is a supernova, exploding outward in a burst of flour and paint and pencil shavings. He is the eye of the storm, the waiting calm, the anticipation in the stillness. He is the boulder at the top of the hill. 

He leans back on his elbows in the grass and the sun catches his eyelashes and you want to love him because he is beautiful. You want to love him because he is mundane. You want to wipe away the streak of flour on his cheek because he doesn’t even know it’s there and it’s driving you crazy and you just want to know if he’s solid. 

He’s not larger than life. He’s not ethereal. He’s a wreck, and he’s laughing, and he’s spitting out dandelion fuzz and watermelon seeds, and he is so human that he’s looped all the way back to unbelievable, and you just want to know if he’s tangible. Touchable. You want to brush the flour off his cheek, but you won’t, because you know better.

— r.a.b. // 05-13-2023

#been tweaking bits of this one for a couple weeks now but im kinda tired of looking at it so here it is lol #poetry #my poetry #my poem #creative writing #poets on tumblr #young poets #queer poetry #mlm #love poem #i guess?? #writerscreed #prose poem #free verse #free verse poetry #my writing #spilled ink #spilled poetry

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CICADA WINGS AND USELESS FUCKING BLADES AND I'M NOT GOOD AT WRITING SHORT POEMS IF YOU CAN'T TELL BECAUSE WELL I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS TO ADD TO THE MIDDLE

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[undescribed]

I dont have the spoons to add the transcription right now, but if anyone else does then I'll happily rb with your addition!

#reblogging with the transcript now! #many thanks to artemiscalled