i’m Ren, a 27 y/o trans nonbinary butch lesbian. this sideblog is for my own original poetry, though i’ll also reblog other people’s writing from time to time too!
to see all of my work, it’s all under the my writing tag :)
some tags for specific themes:
trans poetry
lesbian poetry
butch femme poetry
mythology poetry
life poetry
grief poetry
love poetry
most proud of
most popular
for writing that’s not my own, it’s tagged other people’s writing ! i also tend to post more frequently on my instagram.
i have commissions open! both for commissioning an original poem of your choosing, or to pay me to be your editor for a work of yours. any tips are also much appreciated, since i’m currently unable to work 🧡
Ko-Fi
PDF book collection of all my favourite poems! (other peoples works)
[Images ID: an original prose poem titled 'SONG OF THE DROWNED'. The poem is centred. Poem begins:
I never wanted to go / forward / just / dive /
deeper / to not feel the rushing burn in my / eyes / nose / throat / not touch diamond teeth tile nor / water break / that I could / dive /
even where there was no water / let everything / fade / to muffled beats of feet / that I could go unobserved but still / observing / as chlorine ghost / to see the / boys wrestle and the / girls butterfly stroke / and be
beneath it all / unrelated / chemical smoothing me over until I’m just / skin and floating hair / a diving Ophelia / going unpainted / unseen / unknown / I wanted to be forgotten / that swimming lessons would end and / nobody would look for me / nobody would wait in the carpark / no assessment would be made on my technique / that the lights would / one / by / one / flick / off / until / I would be left / in the cold blue glow lamplight of perpetuity / that I could move forward / and not hit the wall / that I could be / orca / shark / whale / anything but / a girl in the pool / holding onto those precious few seconds before I was / dragged up / anything but / a girl about to resurface / break the water / to piercing shrill / a burst bubble of noise to drown me / chlorine tears threatening to choke me and / chlorine throat threatening to blind me / leaving the water’s grip to ask / permission / to use the bathroom / in sudden cold and falling
gravity / spend too long blowing my nose and / hiding / playing ghost / but never being / we’re worried about how long / she / spends in the bathroom / is something wrong? / medically? / in need of intervention or obsoletion / I loved swimming lessons / but I hated / hate / sharing my freedom / with those filling my pockets with rocks of / expectations / trapped in by bodies that made mine / feel like a violation / stopping me from / fading / to blue trans/lucence of / shimmering tide / I hate passing through binary purgatory of dirty tile / just to reach the / same destination / where no matter which entrance I exit from / I will be stared at / lifeguard and swimmer alike / by people who don’t understand what swimming is about /
it’s about / floating / shimmering / fading / pulsing / obscurity / nonexistence / zero gravity / freedom / sensory deprivation / choking / breathing / on braids of anonymous blue
end poem. in the bottom right corner, the writer is credited as '-Ren H.' End ID].
[Images ID: an original prose poem titled 'SONG OF THE DROWNED'. The poem is centred. Poem begins:
I never wanted to go / forward / just / dive /
deeper / to not feel the rushing burn in my / eyes / nose / throat / not touch diamond teeth tile nor / water break / that I could / dive /
even where there was no water / let everything / fade / to muffled beats of feet / that I could go unobserved but still / observing / as chlorine ghost / to see the / boys wrestle and the / girls butterfly stroke / and be
beneath it all / unrelated / chemical smoothing me over until I’m just / skin and floating hair / a diving Ophelia / going unpainted / unseen / unknown / I wanted to be forgotten / that swimming lessons would end and / nobody would look for me / nobody would wait in the carpark / no assessment would be made on my technique / that the lights would / one / by / one / flick / off / until / I would be left / in the cold blue glow lamplight of perpetuity / that I could move forward / and not hit the wall / that I could be / orca / shark / whale / anything but / a girl in the pool / holding onto those precious few seconds before I was / dragged up / anything but / a girl about to resurface / break the water / to piercing shrill / a burst bubble of noise to drown me / chlorine tears threatening to choke me and / chlorine throat threatening to blind me / leaving the water’s grip to ask / permission / to use the bathroom / in sudden cold and falling
gravity / spend too long blowing my nose and / hiding / playing ghost / but never being / we’re worried about how long / she / spends in the bathroom / is something wrong? / medically? / in need of intervention or obsoletion / I loved swimming lessons / but I hated / hate / sharing my freedom / with those filling my pockets with rocks of / expectations / trapped in by bodies that made mine / feel like a violation / stopping me from / fading / to blue trans/lucence of / shimmering tide / I hate passing through binary purgatory of dirty tile / just to reach the / same destination / where no matter which entrance I exit from / I will be stared at / lifeguard and swimmer alike / by people who don’t understand what swimming is about /
it’s about / floating / shimmering / fading / pulsing / obscurity / nonexistence / zero gravity / freedom / sensory deprivation / choking / breathing / on braids of anonymous blue
end poem. in the bottom right corner, the writer is credited as '-Ren H.' End ID].
[ID: an original prose poem titled 'A TRANSITION IN FIVE ACTS'. Poem begins:
i. Gender as flagellation
locked up / tied up / noose and gallow / made so long ago / nobody remembers / who made them / atop creaking plank / looking skyward / for the top of the rope / and seeing / my own white knuckles / bone ready to burst / the door beneath my feet / waiting on my word to / exit / a deserved exit / for crimes unbeknownst but felt in my bones / waiting on my word / waiting / waiting / what am I waiting for? / raw palms and anticipated asphyxiation / who is waiting? / I look down from my clasp / to the hungry audience / ready for a show / of blood of schadenfreude of hot necks / ready to witness / my gallows a set design / nooses drop and tie / around my arms / my legs / and I
am
dropped
ii. Gender as stage
a gallows marionette / tapping each toe to a / rhythm I know in my bones / but rattles / blood squelch in sodden shoes with each step / breathing controlled / gestures controlled / words controlled / acts controlled / joy controlled / is it even joy? / rictus or elation? / conversation or rehearsal? / the world’s a stage / the world’s a cage / a director I can’t see / a script I can’t drop / from whitening knuckles / enter stage left / exit unseen / no backstage / no interval / no red dripping curtain / I reach for / you / and you / reach back / you / touch / my / fingers / but no / no / no / no / it’s Aristotlean / you are set design / you are character / I / beg / you / to / let / me / go / and you listen / you nod along / but no / no / no / no / it’s Brechtian / a fourth wall break / I break character / I break myself / I break the windows / drag myself out / glass and all / embedded as part of me / shard in hand
iii. Gender as weapon
I am untouchable / I am unreachable / I am unafraid / I am not hiding / I am not performing / I am stranger / I challenge you to look at me / I challenge you to look away / I dare you to say something / I dare you to say nothing / hold your eyes / in my own / palm / my gaze a beartrap / a safety release / my body concrete / every time I / step / outside / I must be ready for / fight / flight / an exit stage right / I need an exit plan / I need knuckles white / a blinding force / to incinerate all to dust / to be rage / to be shield / to be lit dynamite / to be fuel / until it all runs dry / and I run on myself / spluttering cannibalism until
iv. Gender as desertification
where is rage? / where is joy? / where is noose? / where is love? / where is the edge? / an unending horizon / of backstage / footsteps buried / no body to witness my existence / I do not like it / do not dislike it / I do not / anything / I sit in myself / wherever myself ends / in a place like this / burning to dust / white as lit glass / night falls and I sit / sun rises and I sit / rain comes and I sit / help comes and I sit / not above nor below it all / at all / simply mirage / simply shudder and shimmer / no need to shatter / nor reflect / one with the sand / my chest a rolling dune / my waist a heatwave / threatening to become nothing / fading to observer / free of observation / hand in sand / gripping loose life rushing away / until I start cupping / until I start digging / until I start building / something for myself / out of myself
v. Gender as creation
what starts as sandcastle becomes / sandfortress / sandhospital / sandshield / sandart / sandhome / shades and shelters / a place to breathe / to sob / to resent / to lament / until I’m ready / to venture further / sticks from savannah / water from oasis / venturing further and further until I lose my way / back to square one / find concrete and skyscraper / stumble blindly in / white / light of artificiality / stumble blindly / only my feet / ready for a trapdoor / an exit / a protection / an obsoletion / until I find / you / and you / and you / no falling grains / no standing ovation / no concealed knife / just / you / and / me / and / you / and / me / and / you / and / me / no sand just hands / all wanting to carve / something better than this / better than desertification / better than stage / better than flagellation / better than weapon / better than the corners / better than the crumbs / better than our bodies / as they are / beauty is not pain / perception is / we know it can be better / there is no reward for suffering / only creating / the world / something better / together.
End poem. in the bottom right, the writer is credited as 'Ren H.' End ID].
[Images ID: an original poem titled 'clarity on my 27th year'; lineated from left to right. Poem begins:
Not on my birthday,
just a
Saturday night,
my face
in the dull overhead light
and the bathroom mirror,
smudged but crystal
clearer than I ever remember
my own face
being –
a spot sticker nestled
on the side of my nose,
a stain down the front
of my t-shirt,
skin irritated red
from tears days ago,
all of it seems
total,
complete,
wrinkle prophecies
in between my brows,
the corners of my eyes,
the tent over my lips,
my hair overgrown
over the tops of my ears,
bright grey streaks like
dagger rain,
lips crusted,
teeth yellowed from
skipping a brushing,
and my back hurting from
bending over barely
making it hard to even
wipe,
and in the reflection,
it all looks back at me
at once,
not fragments only seen
one piece at a time
but complete, me –
I find that
I have less questions
these days,
who I am, what I’m doing
with my life,
not that I know the answers,
just that I make my bed,
I lay in it
at an
okay time
(most days)
I make my instant noodles,
I resist the takeout
(most days)
and no matter the hanging
questions
I continue,
certain that whatever
will be will be
(most days)
because there’s
me,
in the bathroom mirror,
smiling through toothpaste foam
at myself,
just for myself,
angling my head,
saying in a million and
one different ways,
hello,
this is me,
and don’t you
love that?
and as I spit
out, a circular milky glow
pierces my peripheral,
and I look up above
running water to see
the moon
through my bathroom window –
I always forget
I can
see it here,
and here
it always is
reminding me every time
we are here.
Poem ends. in the bottom right corner, the credit is '-Ren H.' End ID].
in response to seeing all those 'i love it when hot people date each other' and 'when a 10/10 fem is with a masc/butch :/' posts thatve been around a while
ko-fi (tips appreciated!)
instagram
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[Images ID: an original poem titled 'BEAUTY AIN'T ALL', formatted in a traditional lineated style. poem begins:
Does beauty make you
make two coffees every
morning, theirs with extra
inconvenience to get it
just the way they like it?
To hear that humdrone
of satisfaction, to see the
closing of eyes, when it’s
just right?
Abandonment
fear can get you so far,
but even that won’t last
forever –
beauty don’t end but it
does shift, and can you
take that?
Baby,
if by some impossible reality
your beauty
went missing,
I’d still wake up next to you
every day for the rest
of my life, comb your greys,
make your coffee,
wash your laundry,
pick up your prescriptions,
your beauty is mighty
but it ain’t all –
those early days wouldn’t
shift into late ones if
beauty was all there was –
So love beyond façade,
beyond the layers,
bless their triple sneezes,
hear the same story a
dozen times just for the sake
of experiencing them a
few extra seconds
than the little time
we get.
And, baby,
how about me?
When decades of smiling
are etched into my cheeks,
engraved stories in a permanent state
of retelling, will I
still be your
baby? Will you still
pick up the tab?
end poem. in the bottom right corner, the author is credited as 'Ren H.' end ID].
also, i recently gathered all of my favourite poems (by other writers) into a single PDF for myself and decided to share it on my ko-fi!
it’s 106 pages, 62 poems, with an index, and links and credits to all the writers! and it’s free!
A collection I made of all of my favourite poems/works that I've carried with me the last few years! I made this for myself, since my memory
it’s a mix of published poets, blog excerpts, and internet poets, covering themes of love, grief, living, butch-femme, LGBT, nature and justice! - full list of contents in read more :)
it’s free since it’s not my own original work, but if you wanna tip for making the PDF then it’s much appreciated!! 🧡
(sidenote: if you/your work has appeared in this and you want it removed or edited, let me know and i’ll do so immediately!)
After The Threesome, They Both Take You Home’ - Sue Hyon Bae
‘Come, And Be My Baby’ - Maya Angelou
‘Witness’ - Crystal Wilkinson
‘lady macbeth-macbeth’ - @two-bees-poetry
‘how to spend an august afternoon in love’ - @cheruib
‘Chocolate Chip Pancakes’ - Caitlyn Siehl
‘The Teapot’ - Robert Bly
‘Little Weirds’ (excerpt) - Jenny Slate
‘Writing Prompts for the Broken-Hearted’ (excerpt) - Eden Robinson
‘Perhaps The World Ends Here’ - Joy Harjo
‘The Serious Downer’ - Jill McDonough
‘Summer Was Forever’ - Chen Chen
‘For Grace, After A Party’ - Frank O’Hara
‘A Vow’ - Wendy Cope
‘Laura, I Want You Pulling Your Hair Back’ - Natalie Dunn
‘Watching you talk on the phone, I consider the empty space around atoms-‘ - Rhiannon McGavin
‘Gram Loves You. Please Call’ - Amy Gotliffe
‘The Quiet World’ - Jeffrey McDaniel
‘the undone cowboy writes to his sweetheart’ - Silas Denver Melvin ( @sweatermuppet )
‘Song of the Anti-Sisyphus’ - Chen Chen
‘RURAL BOYS WATCH THE APOCALYPSE’ - Keaton St. James
‘A Possible Exit’ - Jarrett Moseley
‘poem on my fortieth birthday to my mother who died young’ - Lucille Clifton
‘ANSWERING HER QUESTION’ - Alice White
‘when the one you thought, finally, wouldn’t, does’ - Marty McConnell
‘fourth grader’ (excerpt)
‘Poem’ - Langston Hughes
‘For M’ - Mikko Harvey
‘A Drink of Water’ - Jeffrey Harrison
‘Cold Solace’ - Anna Belle Kaufman
‘Boot Theory’ - Richard Siken
‘Love letter as an autism diagnosis’ - Arden Kowalski
‘Tea’ - Leila Chatti
‘Night Walk’ - Frank Wright
‘Don’t Hesitate’ - Mary Oliver
‘For A Student Who Used AI To Write A Paper’ - Joseph Fasano
‘Rain’ - Raymond Carver
Unnamed/‘who’s afraid of hoverflies?’ - @a-chilleus
‘The Orange’ - Wendy Cope
‘Failing and Flying’ - Jack Gilbert
‘Can’t Get Enough Of My Love’ - Shuyler Peck
‘Invitation’ - Mary Oliver
‘Dead Rat’ - Mervyn Peake
‘Wild Geese’ - Mary Oliver
‘I Imagine The Butch’s Stripper Bar’ - Jill McDonough
'I got the blues' - about wanting physical affection but being unable to initiate it
Ko-Fi
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[Images ID: an original poem titled 'I got the blues'. The poem is lineated from left to right. Poem begins:
That slow
low kind,
the background hum
that threatens to turn
everything to drone,
the creeping cold kind
crouching in your bones
no matter what you do.
So please –
I will you
please
hug me?
Love me and leave
no room empty
for doubt nor
lonely
fingers to pull
at my tendons.
Will I please
reach for you?
When I next
see you I will
make up years
lost and
grab you
squeeze you
crush you
smother you
love you
wrestle you
choke you
hold you
rub you
headbutt you
press face
to face and feel
breath and heat
and heartbeat’s immense
overboiling with
more desire
than I can
hold.
So,
next time,
I try to touch
but skin goes taut
tightens around joint,
maybe desire was just a
trickery of the light,
stay within rope range,
it doesn’t twist to burn if
I don’t
step towards you -
but you
step towards me –
you step towards me
reach for me
clamber onto me
hug me
wrestle me
wiggle with me
giggle with me
no tautness
just lightweightedness
rope expanding
to circle infinity
around us -
I go to bed
that night,
October cold and
creeping in
to make the warmth feel
right,
moths tapping
on my window,
their whiskers stretched to hungry light –
I go to bed
that night,
full-bellied
and full-loved.
Next time I will.
End poem. In the bottom right, the writer is credited as 'Ren H.' End ID].
Ko-Fi (tips appreciated!)
Instagram
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[Images ID: an original poem titled 'Under Loch and Key'. The poem is lineated left to right, except for the last stanza, with indented lines being signalled by a '/'. Two '/' of these symbols indicates the stanza has changed to being lineated from right to left. Poem begins:
He calls you an
English rose,
but he’s not talking
about the thorns, in
the stables,
below feet and light,
the smell of leather
knuckles grazed against necks,
and everywhere you turn the
gates are locked and bolted and
your belt is leading the dance,
unravelling the slim pickings of the night,
the fluorescence cupping
the cuffs over your biceps
reaching for the
/ water
that once reflected
/ faces
in current that you can’t quite
/ gather
in your
/ palms
before rushing to and from
/ infinity
that you can’t quite see but still
/ squint at,
your eyelid lining up
with the horizon’s
/ knife edge
reflection –
// Well?
Are you
waiting
for something
to happen?
End poem. In the bottom right corner, the writer is credited as 'Ren H.' End ID].
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please do not repost without credit!
[Image ID: an original poem titled 'we shower together for the first time. poem is in a paragraph format. poem begins:
Don’t use soap on your face! / Okay, hold onto me tight while I squeeze around you / Shit, I almost slipped / Turn around, I’ll get your back / I didn’t know you had a birthmark there / I didn’t know you had keloids here / Pass the shampoo? / Move over! / Your eyelashes look so pretty when they’re all wet / You can only see my scar in the shower, for some reason / Close your eyes while I exfoliate your face / Better than soap, right? / I have water in my eyes! / I’ll grab the towel / Smell my bodywash, isn’t it so sweet? / I love it on you – very pretty and feminine / Smell my shower gel, isn’t it so good? / It’s sexy on you – very masculine / Here, I’ll wash your legs / We’re gonna be late! / Okay, I’ll get out first / I put your clothes on the radiator so they’d be toasty for you / Ready? / Step out into my arms / Into the warm towel / Let’s bring the water with us.
