The TERF on my Shoulder
There’s a trans exclusionary radical feminist that lives on my shoulder.
She thinks I’m a man.
Let’s call her Janice, or Cathy or Society,
let’s call her the TERF on my shoulder.
She’s my anti-conscience, imagine Jiminy Cricket,
but transphobic,
always reminding Pinocchio he will never be real.
She is the lingering feeling that I don’t belong
the deep breath I take before entering a women’s bathroom
and don’t release until I leave the women’s bathroom
She is the hole tucking has worn into my favorite jeans,
The moment of panic every time I interrupt someone
or show any anger.
She calls me rapist every time
I message a lesbian on tinder
or don’t disclose
my transness to the drunk boy putting
His tongue in my mouth.
She is the series of blue ink marks I write on my hand
in a women’s studies classroom:
One tally mark for each time I speak in class
not to exceed 5 tally marks, because she’s waiting
with accusations of male socialization and domination.
A cis woman who talks too much is a bitch.
A trans woman who talks too much is a man,
so I make tally marks. I wonder, if I press hard enough,
can I make myself bleed?
She tells me, you can be a real woman if you don’t bleed.
I’ve faced similar oppression as her.
Look! I even kept the receipts,
I framed them and hung them over the fireplace.
One for every idea taken out of my mouth
and pinned to the lapel of a male colleague.
One for every disapproving look for holding the hand
of someone who is not a man.
One for every time a strange man followed me home,
holding my safety in the palm of his hand,
his male gaze searing the hairs on the back of my neck.
I show her the receipts, but she never accepts them
She says,
“Sorry we don’t accept isolated incidents, only systematic oppression.”
I wonder if there is any way
I can live my life that she will approve of.
I tell her she’s wrong about me
But she will not listen.
And I tell her, I exist
And I am a woman
And I am real
And I am real
And I am real
But she does not listen,
and every time I try to smash her,
I just give myself a bruise.
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