#uploadingnature poem or #uncomfortablepronoun
for Loma aka Christopher Soto aka Loma
My gender identity is a…
multifaceted multifarious molecular body
belonging to a garden variety dinner menu.
Though vegetarian — not exactly what my Mother ordered.
Culture couldn’t succeed in proving
why i ought to claim a professional gender.
The well groomed perfected gender identity unable to honor smudged lipstick
the morning disarray, the afternoon confusion, the late night insomnia
the saltwater holding my body as i swim towards the depths
to grab the sand and let my feet swing up towards the surface
i let the sand go and allow the wave currents to pull me
spiral tumble swell upwards into the white-wash
pushing me towards shore.
Mercreature. Seaflower. Manatee ascending starbound.
I am not a professionalized gender.
I am not a part of speech.
I am not a noun.
I am not a pronoun.
I am not a professional noun.
I am not seeking approval by a professionalized proper vocabulary.
The sun is on my back — Janet Jackson blasting in my headphones —
i wonder how can faggots identify with a woman so obsessed with love?
as i fly towards the ocean
determined to find the safe embrace of its depths.
Whenever someone asks what my pronoun choice is
i wonder what is it about me that screams pronoun?
Is there some smudge on my face that i do not see?
i am not a professional noun.
The professional noun has much work to do.
My gender identity is a child’s dream
as it makes sense of the clouds
swirling above. Someone once told this child
if it looked close enough the clouds themselves
would form all the animals roaming the earth.
My gender identity is an animal’s dream:
The dog barking & twitching in sleep
An owl hooting over yonder
Rats burrowing into heaps of trash
A sea turtle arching its shell and lowering its fins toward the reef
The lions yawn
The frogs summer ribbit choir
A cats morning meow.
Remember when we met, we all went in a circle, naming our names and pronouns and i said whatever for lack of time?
i’ve often thought of changing my name:
green or mercury or venezuela or pit
but i always come back to my given name
and this given language.
Remember when you plucked me from the garden and told me “you’re beautiful” then left me on the counter to wither alone?
My gender identity is heroic.
Still — the professionalized noun triggers my fear of the corporate state.
Is there an equivalent to healthcare system for the English grammar system?
Because my gender identity needs social services.
My unprofessional gender identity is homeless, jobless but wants assistance.
However, it refuses to be professionalized as a pronoun.
Remember when my gender identity dripped orange all over the canvas?
My gender identity is too sloppy to be contained as a word
it’s leaky & unwashed & into sploshing
and too poor to hire a professional to clean up the mess.
Am i in my gender identity
or has the park
and the poem
and the tree
and the squirrel
existed forever?
2087
titsay
yousharknotpass
dailybridgerton
kianamaiart
