#uploadingnature

[parasiteparasiteparasite-blog]

#uploadingnature Orlando subway poem

[parasiteparasiteparasite-blog]

#uploadingnature Orlando subway poem

[stephenboyer-blog]

#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?

Like cats — we shift.