trying to find some words

when im in a weird mood, i write. so here- some works in progress, maybe i'll edit them later, who knows.

what to tell you about london (for c.jarelle):

i am pretty sure that the squirrels are fatter here.
they sit on their hind legs slovenly, daring young schoolchildren to get close,
waiting till the last moment to scurry away from their cautious advances.

most students here look like balls of hair growing from toothpick sticks.
skinny hipster legs accentuated by bone-tight jeans or lackofpants
curly mops cut in strange, asymmetrical patterns, usually with
a buzzed patch on one side, or in the back, the rest
spiked curled gelled dyed (mostly a bright burgundy red, the kind of
kool-aid color everyone went for in 10th grade to prove that they were
red-blooded rebels).

people rarely touch here. i think this
is what bothers me the most. there is an
unspoken rule- there is never to be any touching.
not even amongst friends, not even accidentally,
maybe if you are dating, but even that is looked down upon
with a silent disdain. touching is only for new, inexperienced lovers
who don't know better yet.

here, the wind is indecisive.
there are some november mornings that feel just like
early spring. the sun shines and birds peep, and it is always enough
to convince me to leave my house with very little. by three,
the sun begins to set and so does the cold. the wind blows hard
and unforgivingly, like a bitter woman out for blood.
her stage whispers turn to screams of agonizing loneliness,
and the truth of this is what chills my bones the most.


----

"yes, you are a lion, but there is some judas in you, too"

how do i greet the natty dread who hangs around the
front of my favorite jamaican restaurant?
he greets me with a slight nod, but the
look in his eyes betray the gloss of unfamiliarity.
i know the words but they stick in my throat.
jah bless, breddrin.
i wonder if he would be surprised, the greeting stumbling clumsily
out of my mouth, old accent of my youth peeking through my front teeth.
or maybe he would laugh at this strange, awkward bodied boygrrl thing,
who gave up their crown of dreads for oversized button-downs and some
strange longing for wimpyboi androgyny.

[...]

don't be like your sister when you grow up, my mother warns him.
the way she's headed, she's only asking for trouble.

My Gay Zine

So I forgot to tell you guys that I am helping put together a zine for the LGBT(Q) society.

(oh we also had our queer discussion and it's looking like we're gonna add it, but it's serious business here- they have to go to some student union higher up people and ask and its a big deal.. aaannyyways

Yes. So I am making sure people submit, putting it together, and I also wanted to submit something. A memoir piece. At first I was going to write about how I am my Daddy's "lil grrl" still, and how, even though he believes that still, I knew when I was 13 (and fooled around on his couch with the grrl next door- whoops, sry dad!) that I could no longer be that.. and how I feel like I'm lying to him, because he thinks I'm some sweet daughter who's still stuck at the age of 7. Right. that piece never got finished, although I still think it needs to be written. I will hopefully upload that soon enough. But here's the piece I was thinking about using. I am probably going to cut it- a lot, since I get really self-absorbed (gasp- who me?) and go on and on about myself and my gender (again!!). But I feel like this is the most updated, best way that I understand myself and my gender and sexuality right now. So tell me what you think and if I should put it in the zine.

-----

why i use they:

"Stokely," my flatmate Jenny slurred drunkenly one night, holding a delicate hand-painted teacup in her hands. "I heard a rumor, but I don't want you to get mad."

I leaned against the wall, trying to keep my face and body composed, all the while bracing myself for what she was about to say. Jenny always keeps me updated on flat gossip, and I knew that if she had a question for me, it was because I had somehow come up in conversation. As far as I know, my heterosexual, teenaged flatmates only ever gossip about me when it comes to two topics: My sexuality/gender, or the sexuality/gender of my friends who make it a habit to rarely come over and visit.

"Amy and Dion were talking," Jenny continued. "And I just want to know so I don't offend you... but they said you used they. Instead of she. And, like..." she trailed off, waiting for me to explain.

"Yes, I do. Although at this point I don't mind if you use she." I smiled to show that I wasn't upset, and headed for the door.

"Okay, because I didn't want to offend you," Jenny called out behind me, as I stepped out into the hallway. I gave a quick wave and headed back to my room.

This type of conversation doesn't bother me. In fact, I love talking about queerness, my exploration of my transgender identity, and anything else about my life, for that matter. But that night, I was a bit bothered by the fact that this was the second night in a row that Jenny asked me this. It is not her fault- I know how much my flat loves to drink during the weekdays, and I am sure that morning, she probably forgot about our short chat. However, I feel like whenever I mention my pronouns to people, or make attempts at explaining my gender, people hear what I am saying, but very few people are listening. No one else has the excuse of drunkenness.
---

At my school, it is common for people to change their names, and if there is any confusion about someone's gender identity, people rely on the pronoun "they" as a safe way to reference them.

Did you see So And So at the party? Yeah, they are a total hottie, but I think they have a theyfriend.

It can get a bit confusing sometimes. But even back home, I feel like they is constantly used as a gender neutral thing. I don't feel confused or neutral about my gender. In fact, I have begun to refer to myself as a genderfluid, or genderplural person. My confusion comes into play when it comes to deciding how I want to portray my gender to the world.

At the end of my first year, I began to collect vests. I learned quickly in high school that binding was never going to work for someone with such a large chest as mine, and sports bras only called attention to their size, rather than concealing them. So for me, wearing vests was my way of hiding the part of my body that I felt the least comfortable with. Halfway into my second year, I cut my hair and began to use my taken name more frequently .

At first, people did not know how to react to such a drastic change. Did I feel like I was trans? Was I thinking about transitioning? I was starting to adjust to my own body, and did not know how to answer people's questions, let alone my own, about my newly discovered identity. All I knew was that it felt right in that moment to change.

I tried to experiment with my new look by dressing more masculinely. I thought that this would feel right, because people began to treat me more like a "little man." At parties, I became more of the aggressor- I would dance with people only if I could take the lead. When I came home from a long day, I would demand that one of my female friends take care of me, or cook me dinner. I was testing the waters with this newfound masculinity, and I always got my way. My friends will never admit to it, but in a way, they loved it, and nurtured this chauvinistic behavior of mine.

But still, I didn't feel at home in this identity. I didn't feel like this is how I wanted to portray my male side, a part of me that I knew was very real and needed to be expressed.

Hampshire College, Mon. February 2nd, 2009 12:11AM.
My hair-
its gone.

Cutting my hair didn't make me want to be the aggressor. For me, it was a very vulnerable act, and I felt the need to affirm my ability to have short hair and be read feminine. I wanted very much to be cute. So I began to dress up, in private. At night when I had trouble sleeping, I would put on dresses that I borrowed from my friends, and wearing my finest jewelry, I would pout and pose in front of my mirror. I would spend hours tip-toeing back and forth from my room to the bathroom, carefully applying shiny lip glosses and eye shadows.

Soon, I discovered the wonder of scarves, and began collecting colorful cloths made of silk, and adorn my neck, hair and back jean pockets (right side, thank you very much!) with them. I have come to realize that by cutting my hair, I found a way to liberate my femininity, but to also make it "dirtier", and to "queer" it as well. My previous discomfort with my femininity was because before second year, I always associated "femming up" with me attempting to pass as straight -usually because of family events. I didn't know how to be "girly", because I always did it in an attempt to mislead my family into thinking that I was a well-behaved, normal, God-fearing girl.

Although this new-discovered feminine side of me was comforting, and fun to explore, I still felt a longing to be masculine as well. In fact, it was more than a longing- it was a need. Many times, I feel as if I am not fully in my body. This feeling of body dysphoria is a result of a long list of components, but it became painstakingly clear to me that one of the main reasons was because of my gender. It is like having an internal switch sporadically change from "girl" to "boy", and I have no control over it. It usually starts off with simple things, like not knowing what clothes to wear, or how to fix my hair that day. But sometimes, it can affect bigger parts of my life, like forgetting my name, or not knowing where I am or who I am with (I associate my different names with locations- for instance, I know I am at home with my family, because I am never referred to by Stokely there, whereas I am only called "Stokes" when I am in a setting with peers my own age).

My masculine identity is still a work in progress. However, I have noticed a trend. I feel the most assertive and manly when I am surrounded by gay men. In other words, I feel like there is a part of me that is a very flamboyant, borderline drag queen-esque gay man. This is when I feel the most comfortable with my masculinity, and although I can't put it into words, I can usually feel it usually in the lower part of my body. It affects the way I stand, the way I walk, the way I think.

I think that my gender identity manifests itself in the type of people I like. In female bodied people, I usually go for (well, other than emotionally unavailable and stuck up) very androgynous types, leaning more towards masculine-presenting- in a wimpy boy kind of way. However, with male bodied people, I am also attracted to androgyny, but lean more towards effeminate men. What can I say, this genderfuck exclusively likes other genderfucks.

"i will fall in love with a gender slip into it like a bath."

I am not a boi, grrl, butch, femme, anrogyne, cis, kiki... but at the same time, I can be any of these genders at any given moment in time. Not to mention a whole other list of genders that I don't even know about yet. So, you see, I don't use the pronoun "they" to be pretentious, difficult, radical, anti-British, or quirky. I use they because I am a mixture of a lot of different genders, names, and sometimes even people, and that can change at any given moment. I am hoping that one day, my mind will make a decision and stick to one gender and one pronoun. Something comfy and soothing, like a nice hot bath after a long, rainy day. But until then, let's just stick with good ole' "they"- the consistency is nice for a change.

just some thoughts

sorry i haven't been updating this thing. but here is something i wrote:

"types"

i have a friend here who only likes black grrls.

she told me this, awkwardly,
in the smoky club where we sat down
waiting for the others to get back with
their drinks. "it's something about
the afro," she smiled, trying to pass it off as a joke.
i was silent, just drunkenly looked at my shoes
anxious for time to pass.

my friends also say i have a type,
i'd like to think its self-conceited
and emotionally not there, although
it would be more realistic to say
race and gender neutral- but only
"in that sort of way." i wish i didn't
have a type, but i am all too familiar with
how my heart skips a beat when i get a glimpse
of dark curly hair, thinking maybe this one,
maybe this time.