The Thinking/Modern Rodin Man/Fatter, More American
I used to think there was some sort of
Point in shouting from the rooftops about
How there isn’t trans masc representation
But the older I get
And the more I become him, the less I give a damn
If a soul even knows where I’ve been.
I know that my life has been recorded.
In so many ways I’ve left a record
Of where I’ve come from and I try and say
Where I’m going but there is no point to that because
The world has been turning
At such an alarming rate
I don’t know how anyone could keep up with it.
I’ve stopped trying, I’ve stopped seeking
I’ve stopped wanting and I’ve stopped weeping I am simply
Existing. It’s horrible, amazing, gaudy, tasteless
Weak, mute, sleepy, tenuto and gargantuan.
All hearts heavy, mine weighed down to the ground.
I am burning bridges
With everyone and everything, everywhere I go I treat
Strangers better than I do myself and
Family worse than shit I wonder if it’s possible
To exemplify what I want to be, when I am
What I am, and I’m trying to deal with it.
When I go to the men’s restroom
I have no dick to pee with, and I have to sit
I want to see
A marble statue of myself
On the toilet
Thinking, like a sort of
Modern Rodin man but
Fatter and more American.
I want my pants to be down
Around my knees
With my panties, tightly sprung
Like a trampoline
With the tension etched into the marbling.
I want my shit beard to be carved
Hair by hair
So that the sands of wind and time shave me
Until I look utterly the same as I did
Before I transitioned, the way
I feel, on my worst days
Made as immortal as I can imagine.
That, is how I wish to be remembered
Shitting, pissing, hunched over
And thinking so much I can’t stand up
Paralyzed in marble on the toilet, legs numb.