The only message that comes

Is the one involving a trio of twos.

It appears on clocks and odometers.

It presses a finger into me and says,



Dear Mother,

I am rootless.

There are sun beams swaying on the cement streets

Falling below the tree line.

There are birds

And breezes

And distant cars.

And I am rootless,

Carrying all this in my chest.

I am afraid to be here sometimes.

And there is a wolf inside of me

Who thinks I am pathetic

Who thinks I would make a tasty entree.

I gave it my leftovers

Which only made it hungrier.

Somewhere there is a cub

In a field of purple violets and yellow daisies

Laughing to the sound of the moon

Grinning at the slope of a hill

Very much believing

In my basic goodness.

But this wolf lives on scraps.

This wolf has lost her way.

There are chimes, too,

Clanging on a porch;

There is time still

For me to cry

And say I’m sorry

Though I don’t know what for.

After all

I am only human

I’m a kid

I make mistakes.

I did what I learned

But Mother,

This world terrifies me.

I am not a Robin.

I cannot touch the sky

With my fingertips.

I cannot eat worms for breakfast.

Nor for that matter could I live in the mud

As worms do.

I am broken.

There is a crack in me

And supposedly

That’s where the light gets in.

Dear Mother,

I am terrified and I know very little

But the soft animal of my heart

Who yearns for love

And security

And a good stick to play with,

Perhaps one that resembles

The staff of Moses

And I may part the seas

And I may laugh with

The idea of meeting someone new and falling for them seems so foreign to me. I find myself wanting comfort and familiarity. The safety of someone I know and trust. That takes time to build and I often feel that the dating world, especially for trans women, is a hard place to build anything. It doesn’t help that the guy I like has a thirty foot wall around himself. What does that say about me? 🙄

A dream I had last year…

Large compound

Dingy, kind of leaky

My uncle was there.

Sea creatures had escaped. They were out of water. A large swordfish barracuda eel hybrid trying to breathe. ‘They’ll kill you’

Slipping through a big door

Outside at one point having a smoke I believe, coming in off the deck the door almost closed.

Sitting on a bed with my mom and someone else (an old friend maybe), and someone else in the periphery. We were singing songs with each other and as soon as I joined in each time they’d change the song. Then finally I suggested we slow down and sing one song all the way through. And my mom suddenly had an anesthetic breather to my face, trying to put me out. I resisted and she grabbed me by the neck lifting me up against the wall. She wasn’t herself. Mama, I choked, mama, her eyes black with death and evil. Mama, I said trying to rouse her from whatever was possessing her. Mama, I said again close to dying. I woke up then, hearing my breath, gasping. That was that.

January 2017

Looking back, looking forward

Funny how three years later, I still think about GCS (gender confirmation surgery). There’s this doctor in New York City, Dr. Jess Ting, who creates girls’ vaginas using pieces of the inner lining of their stomach so they can experience lubrication during arousal. This surgery wasn’t available four years ago when I lived in New York City. It wasn’t available to me. I gave up chasing my dream of GCS in Thailand and chose to go to grad school to study therapy. Then I left grad school to pursue my art. Now two years later, what do I have to show for it? A great deal I suppose. I’ve started a record label, music collective, and event series. I’ve honed my skills as a sound engineer (and continue to). I’ve played a number of live shows and continue to receive bookings. I feel things are moving in the right direction. But a familiar void has resurfaced in me all these years later–a yearning for a deeper physical experience of my womanhood, a closer proximity to the physical form I see in my mind’s eye.

I remember when I left New York I said I wouldn’t return unless I had a thriving creative career. Now it seems it’s headed in that direction. UN/TUCK is bound to take off. I’m quite sure. And when it does, I’m going to leave Kansas City. And begin my life once more in a place where I can seek trans inclusionary healthcare–where I do not have to spend tens of thousands of dollars on surgeries–where the very notion of calling trans related surgeries ‘cosmetic’ is seen as violent and oppressive–where the final alleviation of my dysphoria is not seen as a burden.

I am ready for whatever changes come. And for the ones I intentionally seek out. I am ready for the true flowering of my life, the true birth, to commence.


It’s taken me almost four years but I finally feel a strong sense of who I am at this point in my life. I’ve explored gender and queerness and fluidity and androgyny. And after all this time I’ve come back to find that femininity makes me the happiest–feminine is where my comfort zone lies, where I feel beautiful and sensual and in touch with my body and authentic consciousness. As part of this rediscovery I’m committing to pushing my transition along, seeking out some facial feminization surgery, an orchiectomy, and maybe that’s it, maybe not. I just know that if I don’t listen to the girl inside me, I’ll never be truly happy. I’m thankful to have come back to this part of myself.