homebois we don’t write enough love poems.we re-name ourselves izzie from Isabella,casey from Cassandra, kay from Kathleen.we run out of ink for our stories cuz we’ve beenrunning through doors of male and female, never satisfied.           we stunnin’ baggy jeans and bright colors over the sirens,we stop cars and walk with stride that makes the concrete self-consciousabout it’s own stability.hitting pavement at the tip-toes of summer,there you go talkin’ about how you  “need a woman pregnant and barefoot.”as I shutter asking,           are you gonna find a stiletto ready to stab youif the knight sticks don’t come get you first?asking- are you gonna be that bullet that is a mouth?asking- are you gonna be that missile that blasts your woman until she misses you,even when you will both be in the same bed?if we make ourselves harder than bone,            make us a legacy that is beyond all this.cuz I’ve been running through doors of male and female,never satisfied.that makes you nervous doesn’t it?are you worried, your palms sweatybecause I am NOT that kind of a manAGstudbutchboiwarrior           and that might make you obsolete, that means this whole systemneeds a revision. that means, we have to ask ourselves dailyare you are doing your homework?homebois, we don’t write enough love poems toourselves. spell out our soft syllables unapologetically, lettingthe ferocity in us extend us a strength beyond stiff jaw and cold silence,the stuff of abandoned buildings.let us unfold the photos with us dipped in lace and dresses and laugh.let the most tender cipher surround us not be our mother’s tears for the lossof a daughter.let us hold our breaths for the sakia gunns and the fong lee’s, as itcould easily be our sweat on this sidewalk.let us adore the swiftness of kisses in moonlight rather than thepummeling cusses of strangers scared of difference.let the tensile ace bandage be a testament across this chest, waving like prophetsof a gender war.let every poor black brown and yellow butch see her way intoa paintbrush, a camera, an uprock, a computer, and not into the hips ofhand grenades chucked on someone else’s every person who squirms in the bathrooms, classrooms, and on stagesnext to me, let them know that this moment is a clue of your queerness.let them know my titas are at casinos burning this American dream away toolet them know my kuyas christen their kid’s foreheads and give me daps with the same hands.let them know that each time they make fun of us, they could be in a feather boa,singing prince, showing their wives some force that will drive them toward and not away.let their children run up and down the city  as the confident queer kids, who getscholarships to college for a GSA or for promoting safety at school,you being the backward parent they divulge to teachers they are ashamed of.let me not reveal my monster each time I hear “I’ll fuck you straight.”let my fingers not be readied trigger, grabbing sharp objects for stabbing back,to turn them into the  bloodiest meat they make of mewith their pyramid of power.let me walk away without harm, disbanding my razor-edgethat could cut their lifelines, slice steel song into their temples,shear off their pride as soon as they start to unzip their pants.let us know we can do thisand make it clear:we choose not to.universe, if we can make ourselves harder than bone,  harder than stone,           make us a legacy that is beyond all this.

A 2009 Campus Pride Hot List artist, 2013 Trans Justice Funding Project Panelist, and 2013 Trans 100 Honoree, Kay Ulanday Barrett is a poet, performer, educator, and martial artist navigating life as a disabled pin@y amerikan transgender queer in the U.S. with struggle, resistance, and laughter. Please see his online swerve at: and on twitter @kulandaybarrett.

This poem is for my QTPOC homebois. Every one of you. We’ve got to protect each other.We’ve got to undo the bullshit in ourselves. We’ve got to stop competing.We’ve got to undo our bullshitAnd uplift our brilliance.

When I haven’t eaten in over 2 hours


Last night my little sister (5th grade) was making an e-mail account

She saw gender and went to click female when she noticed the “other” choice

She looked at me confused and I started to explain that some people don’t think they fit in with strictly male or female

"Oh! You mean like transgender and stuff like that. I was freaked out for a second- I thought they meant robots."

Yet another example the kids are more open-minded than adults


if you’re having a bad day here is a baby polar bear being tickled



She was the kind of girl who no one really noticed at first. She’d sit there quietly without a sound and if you said hi you’d be lucky to get a smile and a nod.

But if you looked closely, you would notice her fingers tapping on the desk, playing an imaginary piano. You would hear her humming under her breath, just loud enough to orchestrate an entire symphony for one and avoid the ‘what are you singing?’.

And if you asked her what she thought of ‘that film’ you’d probably end up talking to yourself, because she would much rather you ask her opinion on the creation of the universe or how war and poverty are justified.

In fact, she didn’t so mind that no one noticed her, because when she was loud the ground trembled beneath her feet and the mountains echoed her roar.

Her loudness wasn’t something everyone could handle, so when he walked up to her and they began talking about the world in all its wonder, her heart gave a little sigh, as if to say “Oh, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #30 (via blossomfully)