i’m Ren, a 26 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)
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
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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
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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].
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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.
Ko-Fi Tip Jar (Commissions Open!)
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free PDF of my favourite poems!
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[Images ID: an original poem in lineated left-to-right format, titled 'Dance With Me'. Poem begins:
In the kitchen
in the street
under sun
under dinner table
to café chatter
to busker passion
with our feet
with our hips
at the train station
at the courthouse
until dawn
until our lungs give out
without care
without music
on empty stomachs
on hiccupping tongues
on New Year’s Eve
on every other Tuesday
when in elation
when in grief –
Dance
dance with me
dance without me
dance for me
when I can no longer
dance on my grave
shoeless, rain-soaked
into the soil
and I will dance
thunderstorm to tap in time
with your muddy toes
End poem. In the bottom right corner, the writer is credited as 'Ren H.' End ID].
'there are many ways to drown' - escapril day 7, prompt is 'selkie'
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FREE PDF of all my favourite poems
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[Images ID: an original prose poem titled 'there are many ways to drown'. the poem is broken into paragraphs. poem begins:
When my selkie came to me / she made me feel free / her haunting eyes and / easy smile / her lips of salt sea / and her jaw of Highland bone / I held her face in my hands and / for a moment could hold water / felt the pull and tug of the current in her skin / she told me of her life / under the sea / how she yearned for land and its ilk / we captivated each other with / stories of other.
When my selkie came to me / she told me of schools of fish / of mermaids laughing in bubbles / but told me it was so dreary / once you’d seen the sea you’d seen it all / everything awash in cold blue / the North Sea taste in every bite you ate / unlike the sun of the land / where each hour brings a new hue / where each bite is like a thousand strings / each note playing tastebuds she never knew she had / where nature was varied / where mountains soared beyond the eye / where ground touched your feet / where birds and foxes and dogs sang / where day and night passed / where lovers were warmblooded.
When my selkie came to me / I told her of the land / that we no longer worked Highland dirt / where we were further from ourselves / than ever before / lost and grabbing at what we could / any cultural tie to what / we once were / reclaiming language stolen from our tongues / I told her of the land / that humans work an average of 13 years of their life / not accounting for overtime / that we must flock to cities of no community / relocate our lives / end relationships / in order to work / that we breathe in smoke / expelled by metal beasts that dominate the walkways / that homeless freeze in alleyways / and the housed in their tenements / under the thumb of once-invaders and those who bed with them / that the life expectancy drops every year / that we are only given an hour to visit the mortuary / before they are burned / and we are given only a week / to mourn them / before we must return to work.
When my selkie came to me / she told me the land was much more beautiful than the sea / I asked her if / she could cross into any sea she liked / no borders to hold her / and she smiled an ocean / told me that she could / and I asked her to take my skin.
end poem. in the bottom right corner, the writer is credited as 'Ren H.' End ID].
for all writers and artists who make art about being transmasc or butch:
open call!!!!!!! for written and visual art (short stories, essays, poetry, drawings, photography, ...) until the 31st july 2025!!!!
... related to transmasculinity or butchness (focus on transmasc4transmasc, transmasc4butch, stud4stud or butch4butch dynamics, although any other thematic approaches to the abovementioned experiences are very welcome - romantic or sexual content not necessary at all)
link to submission form / registration of interest
Instagram: an.anthology.of.us.project
» no more than 3 works per person (incl. art or photography)
» for original works in other languages than english, an english translation should be provided (intended for side-by-side publication)
» independent publishing
» release of the anthology expected around september 2025
» cover art intended to be chosen from submitted visual art
escapril day 28! prompt was my own 'unexpected encounter'
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[ID: an original lineated poem titled 'Vows For A Sunday Morning'. Poem begins:
There is not much
I can really offer you -
myself and all my
flinching hands,
unfocused eyes that
stay on the exit,
flashing between
adoration and
headlights,
a heartbeat
that quickens into hoofbeats,
but -
I offer you my name,
all I am,
condensed into a single
syllable,
the tripping hazards
I went through to get it,
the unearthing of
a small,
scared thing,
a desire to soar yet
to return to a home.
I offer you my Sundays,
mornings spent flipping pancakes
and popping toast,
pouring coffee over ice,
the day spent on sofas
with legs over laps.
I offer you my shoulders,
aching and stretching,
a steady counterweight to
the trebles of life,
running a bath,
bringing the shopping in,
always making the bed
after the last one’s out
(it will usually
be me)
a grip when
taking care of
your every need
in every way.
I offer you my words
the ones laid neatly
on a crisp white page,
and the ones catching
and tripping and
falling onto the carpet,
that leave us laughing
and knocking teeth.
I offer you my clumsy,
in love, in life,
in conversation, in
intimacy, in carrying
the plates and mugs,
in ordering the food.
I offer you my ageing,
my growing wrinkles,
my frown and
smile lines,
the bags under my eyes,
the salt peppering
my hair from the
ripe old age of
24.
I offer you myself.
It is all I have,
and I hope you will forgive that.
I may not have much
in the way of savings,
but I have been saving
a heart on a sleeve
for someone just like you
to come along,
an unexpected encounter
that leads to infinite
Sundays,
a voice that says
Only if you want to, honey
and really means it.
Will you have me?
Hold me tender?
I will have
and hold
every part of you
rugged and smooth,
hard and easy,
bruised and glowing,
if you will let me.
This living,
these hands,
it’s easy with you.
end poem. in the bottom right corner, the writer is credited as 'Ren H.' end ID].
escapril day 26! prompt used was my own 'dancing on a wednesday', and was inspired by @/moonannwrites (instagram) poem 'The Anatomy of a Dyke'!
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[ID: an original prose poem titled 'If god Exists'. either side of the title are lavender sprigs, and the poem is in paragraphs. poem begins:
She pulls you in / threads you around her teeth / giving you hot rush / and the chill of enticement / a tongue that licks teeth like just dessert / her body not a desert / lush with hair and tattoo and acne / to be lost in / hair that sticks up like lightning / to be left on your pillowcase / a stomach that folds and cascades galaxies / puts a chain around your throat and acts the innocent / though there’s no weakness in her blood / looks at you under eyelids like undressing / a wound to be drank / and how you will drink / the night away.
Her fingers reach into roots / tracing the lines of lesbianism back decades / her rolling eyes reminiscent of dyke bar lights / her short nails reminiscent of a brick throw / her boots reminiscent of marching blisters / her thick hands reminiscent of tending the dying on wards / both abandoned yet / hostage / scars like ageing an oak / following the history of / bathroom haircuts and blowjobs / closet hiding and burning / yelling mothers and terrified lovers / disgusted friends and soaked sheets / unending nights and binge drinking / bingeing every chance at touch / at reality / she could get / to tide her over / until the tide took her over / when she needed sea-salt in every corner of her life / threw away the shaver and the boyfriend / got a lesbian one instead / kisses her at the bus stop / chases the man who called you a dyke / for a whole block till he’s weeping / stands outside the bathroom stall / to make sure you’re given no shit / shoulders folding into wings / that she now lets fill the sky with light / gathers faggots / dykes / bisexuals / tgirls / holding all in warm embrace / and sickly sweet blood / jeans stained from it / knuckles from beating / lips from wine and kissing / lets her eyelashes stick to each other / knows she looks hot as all hell / in joggers and hangover / she gives you eternity / and every wish and yearn you ever had / the impossible on her tongue / then takes you dancing on a Wednesday / takes you / takes all of you / every damn way.
Wears just boxers and sagging tits / hickies like islands / says to you over burning pancakes / here’s what catholics are afraid to admit / if god exists they’re a Dyke / only a Dyke could build the world in five days / with only stubbornness, toolbelt, forearms and sweat / you remind her that / they technically ended the world too / in a flood or whatever / she says / yeah? Have you ever seen a Lesbian breakup? / you say / wow / god’s kind of toxic / and ask / where are they now? / we’re in need of fire and brimstone more than ever / especially for a certain subpar children’s author / she shrugs / fucked if I know / probably off having sweaty Dyke sex on mars / you nod / good on them / she flips a blackened pancake / tilts her head like she has / no idea how it happened / WAIT, NO / VENUS!
end poem. in the bottom right corner, the writer is credited as 'Ren H.' end ID].
