Transcendence.

In Thebes, the origin story of Atum the Creator involved Earth and sky's division into Seth & Nephthys, a third gender; both non-binary, by nature.  

In Greek and Roman antiquity, 

there ruled a Goddess named Cybele, 

whose followers transitioned, famously, from male into females.

Ugandans, once upon a time, raged against restrictive gender norms, as priests and Teso tribesmen preferred prints made for the women in their homes

Adoration filled the eagle-eyed Indigenous tribes in pre-colonial times,

as they celebrated sacred two-spirits who  enhanced their lives.

Hijras have existed, in India, for as long as the festival of lights, 

but it wasn't until this century

that they earned economic rights. 

When Joyita Mondal was elected India's first transgender judge, bangles clinked in thunderous applause. Determined to aid her sisters, she abolished trans-exclusionary laws.

Throughout the his and hers-tory
of the world to date, 

our gentle, gender variant friends 

were visible, and loved.

It wasn't until religion won that 

they were forced into prisons.

What good is false piety,

if all it does is inflict pain?

Why can't these wicked men 

see their prayers are pointless, 

when their palms are stained with blood?

To this day, we sidestep around inclusion in our own communities;
safe spaces only for some,
as they centre on cisnormativity.
Like false apostle wrestlers
who rarely sit and listen,
we landed in a sea of thistles,
silenced like the 'T' in 'LGBT',
and 'whistle'.

Somehow, over the muffled screams, 

we have the nerve to call our cultures civilized, when just last year alone, the U.S of Assassination claimed twenty-five innocent trans-lives. 

When trans-people of colour were disproportionately targeted in these attacks, when will we learn to love instead of separating white from black?  

Until our politics are stripped of poisoned prejudice, 

gender nonconforming folx can only 

live in fear of further violence.

Unless our sisters have access to

healthcare, housing, and are gainfully employed, we cannot pretend there's progress until discrimination's been destroyed. 

Give them power through our platform;

lift them up so they can stand alone;

make them feel like mighty Marsha P.  

starting revolutions with a single stone.

We mustn't forget race and sex were never choices that we consciously made.

Let us fight for our most vulnerable, and

amplify their muted voices that fragile men forbade. 

Let us resist until they return to their rightful places next to us once again. This civil rights movement demands the overdue acceptance of our global trans-families and friends. 

We will not evolve until they can be seen without also being afraid. Only once their suffering will finally end, will we ever be able to appreciate their truth, and their transcendence. 

x

Sibling Rivalry.

It must take incredible resolve to stay focused at the circus.  For some, chaos is the buzz and pestering of a simple fly.  It is a feat to stay afloat despite being deprived of a lifeboat.

With the self-restraint of saints, equipped with minimal complaint.  How does one bite their tongue through lifelong chronic pain, as their loved ones bellow over broken nails and migraines.

This kind of bravery seemed made for comic books and fairy tales; epics based on Viking Gods, or stories about sailors and sperm whales. Until that unforgettable day not too long ago, when I rubbed my eyes, in disbelief, as I watched my own sister effortlessly complete superhuman deeds.

There is nothing quite as loud as the silence that accompanies the truth; it echoes inside of us, before it blares like trumpets in a padded room and then blows off the roof.

I spent a lifetime believing confidence belonged to those who dared to shout.  Mistaken, now, as I admit my sister's silence did not stem from her self-doubt. Instead, it was her way of saving us from the fires we started in every single house.

Now, I burn from my own shame, for all the times I cursed her out, assumed she was my rival when she'd only been looking out.

For making false accusations to twisted sisters who laughed at me behind my back, and even to my face.  I cannot eat my acidic words, or ever remove those stains.  I can, however, commit to behaving the way a brother worthy of her should behave.

I beam, with pride now, as my vision is no longer clouded by my own delusion, or promises uttered by others only to be lost to the wind.  Grateful, more than ever, to have finally paid attention long enough to applaud an authentic femme fatale, who is also my best friend.

The fear of loss has made me quicker to count my blessings from above; the greatest of which, are her and our mother's unconditional love.  From sibling rivalry, to reverence, she is the one person I could never be without.  If it weren't for those pinches, I'd probably be six feet underground.