Character, Assigned and Assassinated

My first poem about being trans and how I've played many roles and been forced to kill parts of myself to fit in.

This side of the closet, I'm unapologetically queer and have learned to tear out of the pages and words that have been printed to keep me in line.

Scroll to the bottom to watch my spoken word performance that was featured in The Kansas City Star and filmed by Jill Toyoshiba!!

"Pansy" by Jasper Behrends

"Bullying is very common in the lives of LGBTQ+ youth. Insults such as 'queer,' 'gay,' 'fairy,' 'fag,' and 'pansy' are thrown at kids daily.

Having had personal experience of queer friends taking their lives or attempting to take their lives due to bullying has left marks on my life, I was inspired to create this piece."

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Character, Assigned and Assassinated

I wasn’t born the author of my story

I was allowed to leave handprints

In the margins and later

Paint broad brushstrokes

But never fill pages with my thoughts

I wasn’t born with pen in hand

I narrated my actions

As if I were a supporting role

In someone ELSE’S story

Creator and creation

Puppet and puppeteer

Parent and child

“Zoë picked up the book

From the shelf and then opened it.”

“Zoë sat like a lady

And didn’t fidget o much.”

“Zoë learned to be quiet

And stuff down her emotions

Because of her ringing ears,

Sore bottom,

And fingerprints left on

Her neck and arm.”

I wrote and recited

These lines religiously

Guided by who or what, I don’t know

But God’s hand wasn’t signed

I just got the parental stamp of approval

Or not

I have been cast in many roles

The Oldest Child

The Gifted Child

The People-Pleaser

The Therapist

The Secret-Keeper

The Scapegoat

A Girl

I’ve lost count of

The number of people

Who’ve painted me pink

And pointed to my pussy

As proof of my God-given gender

Starting with the people who

Robbed me of my voice and identity first

I’ve chewed up volumes of paper

In my pursuit of a coherent

Relevant, plot line

One I could swallow

Hook

Line

And

Sinker

So much useless pulp

I’ve slobbered

Ink I’ve drooled

As I’ve salivated over

Sinking my teeth into

Real substance

Finally, I hit bone in

The meat of the matter

And reality sunk in

Slowly

Then suddenly

I’m transgender

My years of playing the Girl part

Only proved I make a shitty, insincere actor

Playing an authentic leading role now

I’ve experienced slow drip death

By a thousand paper cuts

And alienating stares

Been pried apart by curious cisgender

Questions, accusations, and threats

I’ve been violently thrust out

And then forced back into

The suffocating, confusing confines

Of the closet repeatedly

And lost the illusion of safety entirely

But I’ve also discovered

That to be trans

Is to tear out of the pages and words

That have been printed

To keep you in line

To taste freedom

As you emancipate yourself

From your body and mind

To be trans is to shed

The miscast roles

And cookie-cutter characters

You were typecast in

And spit out the rancid ink

And canned lines

You were forced to perform

To be trans is to come home to self

Finally stare your reflection in the soul

Without an ounce of shame and say,

“Ah. There I am.”

As Alok Vaid-Menon said,

“‘Is' is where I’m from,

Is where I’ve been searching all along.

I have nothing to prove.

I have no boxes to check.

‘I am’…

The most beautiful love poem there ever was.”

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