Haiku for Intersectional Feminism

If feminism

Isn’t intersectional 

It is just bullshit


Haikus on the Trans Day of Visibility

Haiku for my trans brothers and sisters:
Hey look we did it
Defying stupid ideas
About gender norms.

Haiku for the Mythical Norm:
Normalcy is false
Just another way to use
Power over you.

Haiku for Cis Allies:
You are doing
An okay job but for real
Could be much better.

Haiku for the Butt Hurt:
It’s not about you
Or your fragile feelings.
People are dying.

Haiku for my Non-Binary Peeps:
Take dualities
And put them in a smoothie
Watch them disappear.

Haiku for fallen Trans Women of Color:
You were beautiful
Brilliant light in a dark world.
Please rest in power.


Reclaiming what was lost. 

My goddess 

Long twisting curls 

Hovering over me 

With eyes like jackhammers 

Eyes like needles

Eyes like black holes. 

You are not done,

She says in a tone 

Too sharp for a blade

Too wide for a chalice. 

You are not done 

Becoming who you are.

I cannot help that I forgot;

That womanhood was the flower 

To bloom of my seed; 

That a little bit of Lolita lipstick 

Could bring my soul alive;

That somewhere in me 

Hid the whispers of water bearers 

And funeral tenders,

The soft glow of moon 

And tinkle of stream,

The valley to my mountain 

The sensation of joy 

That comes with the recognition of beauty 

A pinecone atop a crystal 

A stump on a glass dish 

A rope of white lights 

Strewn in circles, 

A band of wildflowers 

Wrapped in bows. 

Somewhere in me, 

According to the mother, 

Bubbled some ancient spring 

Waiting to burst 

To flow 

To dance among the reeds 

And the trees 

And cherry blossoms, 

To croak 

And sing 

And cry until the evening 

Fell to silence 

And the soft underbelly of my being 

Made herself known.


Stop. Full stop.

Take a look for a second.

Touch your curls and pout your lips.

Tilt your head to the side.

Look yourself in the eyes.

See who you are.



A meaningless composition of atoms,

Bound to disperse themselves

Among the void.

A girl

Somewhere between youth and adulthood

Caught in some impenetrable chasm 

Some liminal space.

The feeling of betrayal

Walking in your bones.

A girl.

A monster perhaps,

But a girl nonetheless.

Now tilt your head the other way,

Arch your back.


Now don’t smile.


Close your eyes.

Now open them.

Now close them again.

This time imagine yourself.

Even if it’s different

Than what you see,

Dream yourself alive


Envision what’s possible,

Imagine that God gave you the keys 
To the car,

Imagine that you can drive 

Anywhere you like.

Go there.

Don’t come back.

Now open your eyes again.

Take a look for a second.

What do you see?

A girl.

A stranger,

But a girl nonetheless.


If the world didn’t fill you with shame, how would you live your life? Would you fill it with strange and exotic movements? Would you be somebody else? Would you continue to hide those aspects of yourself that others call ugly? Or would you make them beautiful? Would you celebrate your darker impulses? What would you do?

Goddess worship

Goddess worship.

A hidden liturgy

Simmering inside me.

The missing archetype.

The embodiment of yin,

The power of my feminine.

I am woman.

Queer and trans.

Good girl,

Bad slut.

Talk dirty to me.

Kneel at my feet

And show me 

The meaning of ecstasy.

Cradle me as you fuck me.

Make yourself at home

Deep inside me

Where a fire is waiting for you

The fire in my sacrum;

The seat of my soul

The source of creation

The yoke of lost identity.

Here to make the lower higher,

The lost, found.

Here to know

The value of being naked.

The beauty in being nude,

And embodying whatever

The heck this little bag of flesh

Really is.

The snake poised

At the base of my spine

Longs to raise me 

Into the sweet clouds of heaven,

To dip me into 

The fiery depths of being,

Where all that we fear

Waits for our embrace,

And for the chance 

The blessed chance

To be a conduit for the Goddess

And her whims on this ailing planet,

That desperately needs

More lovers

More truth tellers

More bubble baths and lavender candles.

Goddess worship,

What I call self care

What I call returning

To my essence

My natural state

The Whore 

The Holy One

The Mother

The Virgin

Light and dark.

The freedom of divine understanding

The pleasure that is our birthright,

The balance that is our peace.

Light some nag champa 

Bundle some sage 

Find yourself where you are,

And let your feet touch the earth

The way a good man touches

My soft goddess body.