What’s The Fucking Dealio/Bumper Car for Pondering/Parents/Scars

I don’t regret transitioning—

But

I do often wonder what the fucking dealio is.

Like, why

Why am I this way

Was I born this way, did I choose it

I’ve cross examined my childhood a lot and

I feel like it’s unfair of me to say

That various influences didn’t happen,

Negative forces have been at work in my life

From the get go, I wonder

If I had just had a queer-friendly family growing up

Who I would be now

Would I be the same person, pre-destined

Broad forehead sent out into the world to wander

Broad hips to bump into things

Am I just a bumper car for pondering ?

What if my dad hadn’t been such a dense callous distant

White nationalist closeted prudish asshole

What if he didn’t hate women what if

I had a man in my life respect my mother and

A mother who was decent enough to care, be sensitive—

What if I had had one parent who listened ?

I don’t want to sound entitled, plenty of people have no parents to speak of

Alas there are some people

Who are so anti social and so unpleasant

That they make you wish you were alone instead

My dad is one of them, and my mom is a total narcissist

Who needed to be certain that I was her biggest fan, but alas

I don’t need much see I already have more than they were ever given

When I was a kid my teacher read the rainbow fish and gave us all a copy

I just

I feel like the rainbow fish.

I felt like it then and I feel like one now and

I can’t tell if everyone does and that’s the whole reason

That children’s book was so successful?

Or if it’s because

I had to share my scales with my family,

Nonconsensually—If you know what I mean

They fuckin flayed me

I was able to move out

And grow my own full set through years of independence.

Sometimes I wonder

Why I’m trans, is it because

I was a 90’s kid and the big seller was a weird book about being a gay narcissist fish?

Or is it because my dad treats women like shit

And like a good son I became something he wanted

A man should have two skills, I have

Dozens. No matter how many skills I acquire and

No matter how much I practice I still feel like a novice

I want to be able to understand this feeling as something other than

A headline for a clickbait article.

I wish I could say

That I was born a boy

With confidence

But the truth is I came out

Swinging, singing, standing and pissing

The moment I got an audience.

My parents tried to correct

All of my masculine behaviors

They pruned me socially until I became

Nothing but scars and

Now they worry about

The feet worth of scars

On the outside of my chest as if it’s somehow less

—anyway, like they always said—

I think I just need to rest.


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