Those that hate us

(This poem is about all the haters of “People of Trans,” a group in which we ourselves are often included.)

Those that hate us say we are not real

We’ve hacked ourselves to neck bolt lightninged monsters

With sutured chests or stapled stolen boobs

With scarred vaginas, Wispy neck beard hairs

Those that love us say we are not real

each time they ban us from their sweaty beds

politely shirking if we get too near

and wincing if we pucker for a kiss.

In day light we cry out that we ARE real.

But in the night we weep that we are not.