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.


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