I wasted the afternoon arguing with Bindel

[rozk]

in real time on Twitter, mostly about trans teenagers. And of course she told me all about the male privilege I grew up with - from her vast knowledge and experience of my life...

But we waste nothing, and poetry is a way of wasting nothing.

On My Male Privilege

My long thin skinny legs, arms without hair,
Nipples as large as eyes stared from my chest
the faintest curve of what might be a breast.
One day my classmates tied me to a chair

Went to the blackboard, picked up coloured chalks
rubbed blue above my eyes, red on my cheeks
and lips. The soreness stayed there for two weeks.
I'd often go for melancholy walks

out by the sewage farm and smell the shit
my life was then. Boys told me I was queer
hang me from windows, stand around and jeer
I was a freak a girl a thing an it.

How can I trust women who say I'm hot?
Those sneering voices tell me that I'm not.

Comments

[johnrw.livejournal.com]

Stirred resonances of my school days too.

Though straight I also suffered those times and slurs.
I withdrew and learned to be content in my own space
My refuges were books and other worlds.
Yours is the harder path, to confront and challenge
Rather than to blend and fade.

Hang in there.

Stumbled in via Twitter, normally a lurker/observer

[thehiddenhamish.livejournal.com]

*hugs*

Sorry you had to go through that, Roz.