I hate (slam poem)

I hate how much time it’s taken me to become myself

I hate how I wasn’t sure if I should say ‘time’ or ‘pain’ because they still feel like the same thing

I hate how whenever I was hurt I learned to feel like I deserved it

That someone else always seemed to have a stronger claim over my body

I hate that 8 years of anorexia still press upon my skin when I see ‘feminine beauty’ and yet now masculine ideals scream along my sinews too

I hate how even as I wait for surgeons to cut away my breasts, beauty imagery whispers to me ‘why aren’t mine as perky as hers?’

I hate that after a medically necessary total abdominal hysterectomy with bilateral salpingo oopherectomy, my first wave of relief was not that I made it through the operation, but that I could never now be made to carry a pregnancy against my will

I hate that medical terminology still rolls off my tongue easier than enthusiastic consent ever did

And that some people might only understand this because it coming from a man

I hate that all the ways I taught myself to speak up and stand ground against the roar of male privilege are now things that someone else must shout over to be heard

I hate that when I walk alone at night I still cross the street when I see a man coming towards me, only now, to the lone woman on the other side I’m the one she threads her car keys between her fingers for

I hate that men I’ve just met make room for me in their casual misogyny, that objectification is a ‘bonding exercise’

I hate that I still don’t feel comfortable exploring my own attraction to women because I don’t ever want to be the man that makes her feel like I felt

I hate that calling myself a man feels like I’m amputating 27 years

I hate that it took me so long to realise man and woman isn’t either/or

That being asked my gender still sometimes makes it hard to breathe, and that I now feel obliged to reply ‘man’ when the closest answer is silence

I hate that it was testosterone in my veins that taught me I deserved to take up space

I hate that the day people stopped yelling dyke and started yelling fag instead felt validating

I hate that ‘don’t be a pussy’ really means ‘don’t have one’

I hate that my pleasure is still less important than appearance

… that self acceptance is such a radical belief

… that not killing myself will always be my most revolutionary act

And… I hate how ashamed I still feel to say this

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s