Forgive my sigh
As you say your vows.
Forgive my disinterest
As you profess your love to God.
Forgive my indiscretion
About your new family of three.
Forgive my speech,
Addressing in equality.
Forgive my discontent,
Left imprinted on the cake.
Forgive my tears
Staining monogrammed napkins.
Forgive my jealousy,
Towards cards addressed to Mr. and Mrs.
Forgive my bitter words,
Left in your glass like lemon seeds.
Forgive my over indulgence
In your generous open bar.
After all, my girl and I
can not return the favor.
We are the voiceless
Let us be heard
Those who speak softly
and swallow our words.
Together like angels
singing on high
separate too, let us
yell for our rights.
Give us your voices
spare us your bread
we shall make peace
by our own means instead.
We are who we are
made just as planned
we are the voices
not forgotten, not damned.
~ L. C. Wilson (2011)
Excuse me sir, I was wondering if you could…
Dude, do you know…
Hey man, are you…
Sorry, sir, we cannot accept this ID, it says ‘female’.
What the fuck are you doing in girl’s room, you pervert?
Stephanie? Is there a Stephanie or a Stephan present? Oh hello, Stephan.
Um, excuse me, I have a question? Are you a girl or a boy?
Are you looking for lingerie for a girlfriend, sir?
Hey, are you a faggot or a dyke?
This has happened way too many times to count
And with every ounce of my being I’ve held it in
I guess when you look like me you just learn to grin
And bear it, learn to close your mouth
Because you have to watch all the words that come out
Like, “Actually I’m a girl; I thought you could tell my chest
Not to brag, but these are size D breasts.”
So sorry, but I think point one for me, it’s kinda hard to miss
Two new heads forming.
If one more girl throws her purse at my head
Thinking it’d be a defence and leave me half dead
One, we’re in a washroom, I have some self-respect
Two, I could get a better score in a net
So just know I will flush your purse until it’s destroyed
Next time learn with whom not to toy because
“Sorry, I usually wear a warning
But I guess I just forgot to this morning.
‘I look like a boy’ on the back of me
I was actually thinking of upgrading so it was flashy.”
So yes, I’m aware that I’m wearing boy’s pants
And yes, since I last checked I still had a vagina
Why? Well, I don’t know, maybe I’m just tryna
Trick a straight girl into giving me a chance
And before her boyfriend, get into her underpants.
So to be exact, I didn’t know
That to be a girl, your hair had to grow
Past your shoulders or down to your knees
And you had to wear booty shorts and bras and those cute little frilly undies that make your ass look…
Well you get the point.
Yes, I have no hair
Sinead O’Connor or even Britney Spears didn’t seem to care.
And no, I am not a family disgrace
I do not have family members after me like a race
To see who is first to burn me at the stake
Because I wouldn’t like heels and much rather skate.
And no, I don’t slather make up on my face
And yes, where other women have a man, I have a woman in his place.
And no, I do not look like this because I support women’s rights
You can check but yes, I still shave and don’t have anger issues… might.
So, are you a girl or are you a boy?
Actually, I’m just me. That’s all I ever was.
I was me, just me, before I got into this perfectly categorized and labelled place.
That’s what I was in my mother’s womb before I had a face
Hell, before I had genitals or a name
Or had to follow these gender roles like some warped twisted game.
So you can keep your labels and use them at your will
And though I don’t label myself, you can label me still.
Boy, girl, dyke, faggot.
Um, Mom, what’s that? Is it a girl?
No, honey, it’s not nice to stare.
I can answer that question so fast, honey, let’s just play truth or dare."
— Stepha Zapata (via lbgtqa)