Where are the tattoos I cannot see
That blaze so bright upon my skin
Causing others to stare into my eyes
And judge me by my marks?

In invisible ink writ large
Selected by those who seek to target me

Where are the ghosts haunting me
That hang about like specters
Driving recoil by my presence
And leave me dispirited and alone?

In shadows of fearful flocks
Stampeded by those who seek to cull me from the living

Where are the scripts writ for me to learn
That lose me turns in time
Missing my marks and flubbing my lines
And create for me awkward nervous silences?

In improv shows I missed
Produced by those who seek to ban me from the stage

Where are the dreams turned to nightmares
That vex me in my waking hours
Dreading protectors who swing to jailers
And cast me into genocide’s hungry maw?

In distorted funhouse mirrors
Lit by the darkest urges of ignorance


About cistotrans

A Seattle-area trans woman seeking a happy spot to stay at along the path of transition.
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