To All the Beautiful, Kickass, Beautiful and Full-Bodied Femmes Out There – Ivan Coyote
[That one I’m going to do now, it gets me choked up a little, so I have to think of England first – the Toronto Maple Leafs, something that pisses me off. Okay, I think we’re good!]
To all the beautiful, kick ass, fierce and full-bodied femmes out there, I would like to extend my thanks to you.
It is for you that I press my shirts and carefully iron my ties. It is for you that I make sure my underwear and socks match. It is to you that I tip my cowboy hat. It is for you that I polish my big black boots.
I know that sometimes nobody truly sees you, and I want you to know that I see you. I see you on the street, on the bus, in the gym, in the park. I’m not sure why I can tell that you are not straight, but I can. Maybe it’s the way you look at me. Please don’t stop looking at me the way that you do.
All of my life, you see, I have been told that I am ugly, that I am less than, I am not a man, I am unwanted. Until you came along, I believed them.
I would never say that the world is harder on me than it is on you. I would never say that. Sometimes, you are invisible. I have no idea what this must feel like, to pass right by your people and not be recognized, to not be seen. ‘Cause me, I cannot hide, unless I’m seen as something I really am not. This is not more difficult. It is just different.
I know those shoes are fucking killing your feet. I want you to know how much I appreciate that you are still wearing them. You look hot. They look great with that dress, and if it makes you feel any better at all, the boots I’m wearing weigh approximately 12 pounds a piece and they make the soles of my feet burn like diaper rash in a heat wave and they feel like ski boots when I have to walk up stairs, but I wear them. Even still, my new boots are velvet slippers compared to your knee-high five-inch heels. I notice and I salute you.
I promise, I am not just staring at your tits. I am actually trying to look you directly in the eyes but you are almost 8 inches taller than me. Please see the above note regarding your five-inch heels. At the same time, I would like to mention, while I was trying to look you in the eyes, I could not help but notice your lovely new pendant. I’m sure it really brings out the colour of your eyes, if I could see them.
I want to thank you for coming out of the closet, again and again, over and over, for the rest of your life. At school, at work, at your kid’s day care, at your brother’s wedding, at the doctor’s office. Thank you for sideswiping their stereotypes. I never get the chance to come out of the closet, for some reason. My closet was always made of glass.
But you do it for me. You fight homophobia in a way that I never could. Some of them think I am queer because I am undesirable. You prove to them that being queer is your desire. Thank you for loving me because of who I am and what I look like, not in spite of who I am and what I look like.
Thank you for smelling so good.
Thank you for holding my hand on the sidewalk during the hockey play offs. I know it is probably small-minded of me to smile wicked at all of the drunken dudes in jerseys smoking outside the sports bar in between periods because you are so fucking hot and you are with me and not them. But I can’t help it. That’s right fellas – you want her, but she wants me. How do you like them apples?
Thank you for wearing matching bra and panties. I do not know why this makes my life seem so perfect, but it does.
Thank you for being the daughter my mother always wanted. You are so smart and so successful and you dress so fine that you almost make up for her having me and my sister for her real children.
Thank you for reaching out in the dark at the movie theatre to grab my hand in the scary parts. It makes me feel like I am strong, that I can take care of you, even if there is no such thing as vampires and you do so much yoga that you could probably easily kick my ass.
I want you to know that I love your crooked tooth, your stretch marks, the missing part of your finger, your short leg, your third nipple, your lazy eye, your cowlick, your birth mark shaped like Texas, I love it all.
[Okay god, think of England… and the Toronto Maple Leafs, those fucking… Luongo, our goalie. Okay, I got it. Alright]
I want you to know that it is not always easy to love me. That sometimes, my chest is a field full of land mines and where you went last night, you can’t go tomorrow. There is no manual, there is no road map, no help line you can call. My body does not come with instructions and sometimes even I don’t know what to do with it. This cannot be easy, but still, you touch me anyway.
Thank you for escorting me into the women’s washroom because the floor of the men’s was covered in something unmentionable. Thank you for asking me if I have a tampon in my purse, really loud, so the lady in the turquoise sweat shirt with the twins did a double take before gathering up her daughters and hitting me with a pool noodle. I cannot say for sure whether this is what would have actually happened this time, but thanks to you, I didn’t have to find out.
Thank you for wearing that dress just because you knew it would match my shirt. Together, we are unstoppable. When seen through your eyes, even I am beautiful.
Turns out, I was a swan the whole time.
Posted by Megan Ryland, Content Intern
A well-known queer author, storyteller, musician and performer from Canada, Ivan Coyote is an incredible presence and activist force. She often speaks to issues of sexuality, gender, and trans* experiences within her work, although her stories cover almost anything and always feel grounded. Arguably exploring the butch/femme dynamic in this heartfelt piece, Ivan Coyote highlights some of the challenges of (in)visibility for femmes while also speaking to the challenges of presenting a masculine or butch identity.
Our theme of visibility and invisibility finds an interesting expression here. Lines like,
“I would never say that the world is harder on me than it is on you… Sometimes, you are invisible. I have no idea what this must feel like, to pass right by your people and not be recognized, to not be seen. ‘Cause me, I cannot hide, unless I’m seen as something I really am not,”
get into the unique challenges of different gender performances. Critically, she states, “This is not more difficult. It is just different.”
The power of seeing and being seen is crucial to this poem, as Ivan explains, “When seen through your eyes, even I am beautiful” and “I know that sometimes nobody truly sees you, and I want you to know that I see you.” There is power in this give and take. Receiving recognition can be incredible, especially when it has been withheld by others. For both butch and femme women, empowering recognition may not be easily found. Coyote seems to be revelling in the fact that she has found it, and can offer it to others. While many people are critical of butch and femme identities, I think it’s pretty safe to say that Coyote is drawing positivity from the dynamic in this instance. The piece is about offering the opportunity to be seen and valued just the way you are, and being grateful to have that sentiment returned. It’s a beautiful thing.
