Toxic Masculinity

I’ve been struggling with toxic masculinity, guys. It feels so weird to say that because when I identified as a lesbian, I called myself a feminist, but now I realize that I was just a man-hater.

I called men stupid pigs, all the time. I had lots of male friends, best friends, in fact, but I despised even them. Now, I’m a real feminist.

I understand what it feels like to be a woman, and I’m starting to understand what it feels like to be a man. I realize how unfair I have been for judging men. It’s crazy.

Now I know what it feels like to need sex on a physiological level. I know what it feels like to skate over emotions that I never wanted to feel in the first place. Now I see why men run when relationships start to get deep and intimate.

Toxic masculinity is more than sexual assault, cat calling, and aggression. Sometimes it’s feeling impatient with the Feminine because you just don’t want to feel what she’s feeling. Sometimes it’s coming up with some clever explanation instead of truly listening with your heart. Sometimes it’s getting caught up in work so that your mind keeps you from being present with your woman. Sometimes it’s wanting to protect her too much, and you don’t even realize that you’re treating her like a little girl rather than a powerful woman.

Masculine energy is powerful, strong, and so beautiful. I am honored and humbled by the experience of my transition, and I am so grateful for every shot of testosterone. Things that cismen take for granted, I thank God for everyday. Yet, there is so much responsibility that comes with masculine power.

We owe it to our selves, our own Feminine energy, and the girls, women, and femmes around us, to take responsibility for our energy. To transmute toxicity, and make the world a better place for all genders. I know it’s not easy, but when I look in the mirror, I see a good person trying their best. That, my friends, is worth it all.

Thank you for listening. Bless up.

#divinemasculinerising

Poem: Why Meditation Sucks

I have always been a doer
to hunt and slay, (and hide)
to remind the angels
why I am worthy of
warmth and clean water
(or chocolate milk).
Maybe.

Too busy to breathe
I’ve been earning
my breath.
Keep your money and fame
I am seeking
my worth.
(Wait).

I had to secure my ticket to Heaven
(like all the other straight,
White,
Christian men)
I – I can’t get in?
What do you mean I’m not a man?
Fuck.

Holes in my rusted chalice,
fake treasure maps, toy swords.
Indiana Jones and the Flat Earth Theory.
(Fall off the edge already).
Fine.

The thirst and salivation.
Cheat codes hidden inside the nightmare,
(but my scars are real),
behind the shadows, along the veil.
Stephen King and the Cave Wall.
Popcorn and limitations.

I never wanted to sit,
to be still, feel, the fathoms
below and die.
Would you trade misery for joy?

Shut up, boy. (Not you).
The Lady or the Tiger?

Place your heart on the scale.
Do it, doer.

End this poem,
(end it now)!

Poem: Father Geronimo

Daughter, to you I write this medicine song.

 

The world you know is crumbling

Our great grandfathers thundering

I pray, Usen, let the rain fall

Like tears down her pretty face.

 

Your roots are strong

You will not die

Your wings, like Eagle

Meant to fly.

Daughter, I feel you suffering.

 

The four winds change

The sacred wheel turns

Great knowledge and wisdom

Every medicine man must learn.

Daughter, I am proud of you.

 

The love you feel

And pain you heal

Balance and discipline

Heavy news from Raven.

Daughter, this is medicine.

 

You have outgrown this cage

They cannot hold you back

Now that your heart is filled with rage

Like Apache warrior under attack.

Daughter, I know. I know.

 

I want to be your father again

I want to try again

Draw back your bow, my daughter

Draw ink for your pen.

 

I am here

I have always been

I will stay with you

Until the end.

 

You will see

My sweet daughter

 

This is medicine.

Beat Poetry: Stream of Consciousness

Back in the cemetery with invisible friends, feeling nostalgic again, revisiting dead ends, and dead friends, with dead pens, and garlic and obsidian

I keep the zombies away, please keep your ego at bay, I got a small child at play, the part, the world’s a stage, if love

is war, then your heaven is forged, in the heart of Mordor, and haunted corridors, of my mind, nevermore, quoth the Raven, one more,

time, the rhymes, white lines, sweet poison, the noise and, hard times, all these are lies, my old life, has died, and here I rewind, pay homage, pay

tithes, to the darkness, why lie, this black rose, it knows, torture and bliss, dark rituals, holy ceremony, and true love’s kiss, horcrux, es, true stories, this is

illusory reality, I’m losing all duality, entirety, inside of me, something just done died in me, quite possibly, I’m approaching singularity, event horizon, scaring me, but where, I need to

know, excuse me, sir, how far does this ship go, to the Pleiades, oh, for fact? the eastern breeze, please, carry me back, to my second home

Earth, I know, they’re needing me, they’ve seeded me, I’m on a mission, and I’m bleeding, see, it’s still all g, big G, in me, and Love is free, I see

through walls, these dimensions, solid matter got me stressin, humanity depressed and, I think that it’s a bless-ing, and everything is fine, but the fluoride, third eye blind, confusion, feel used and

when winning feels like losing, I’m choosing, to put my heart on the line, and they got this thing called time, just a concept of mind, man, it’s a

vacation, here in space, and, embracing, the freedom, from chasing, my own tail, my own reflection, I am facing, introspection, this perfect imperfection,

got me feeling alone, healing my bones, my choice, alone, my voice, pick up the phone, ET, how do I get home? When Krypton’s just a fic-shon, get grounded, but still fly-on, through purple skies and true lies, like twin flames, in disguise, like friends at

war, 3+2 makes 4, makes sense, for sure, in dense, environments, I’m bored

but since I’m here, I’ll adhere, to the crude atmosphere, and marry the dark with the Light, Sacred Union, within, it appears, as it might, a certain shade of grey, ish white.

Uh. Okay.

Read it again later. Goodnight.

–AT

#inmyhead

Poem: The Question of Love, a Shakespearean Sonnet

Tis sweet defeat to love, says Lo
Answers Vick, thine sugar is rancid
Am I then dunce, asks I, or no
For defeat cannot be tasted.

Vick, he laughs, at I, and bends
Young knave, if defeat is thine candy,
Then retire thine tongue, or now, perpend
Thou death is thy life’s own fancy.

Lo, she fronts, thou fear the child
With thine zany words, I shrift
Love is unsure, unsafe, and wild
Yet without such Love, is one adrift.

The two undergo such testy balk
While I abhor their argued tenses
For Love is silent, and fools do talk
Neither doth Love to sit on fences

And still my mind doth will to capture
Such honest and absolute, thus rapture

Short Story: My Friend Grief

Grief is my visitor. He won’t stay long, yet long enough.

I recall the night he knocked on my door. The shadows of my newfound solitude invited me inward. I was pleased with myself, and deserving of a reward for making a difficult decision. In a pleasant mood, I was about to open a bottle of wine. A bold Merlot, you know.

Just as I grazed my fingertips upon the dusty green bottle, and sensed a thirst in my cheeks, I heard my visitor tapping. Somehow, I knew that it wasn’t a time for celebration.

Observing a shift within me, like the descent of an elevator, touching down on the basement floor, I went for the door. I promised myself the wine would flow at the right time.

It was late night and the rain was pouring down. Many memories washed over me as the cold draft met my skin. Grief stood on my heart-shaped porch, without a cover, awaiting his welcome. I touched my chest as a single tear fell. My old friend was back again.

We have a bittersweet relationship, Grief and I, and still, I call him friend. He’s taught me  much during his extended stays. We know each other well.

He’s like the night that falls, on schedule, bringing shadows and obscurity. I had learned to appreciate the sunlight, for the evening would come, soon enough.

I opened the door wide for him. He picked up two pieces of luggage, regret and growing pains, and silently stepped in. I took his coat and hat. He made himself at home.

For the first night, we sat before the fire. We didn’t speak to each other. We didn’t sleep. We just sat there, feeling the others’ presence.

I tried to open my heart to him, to accept him, and resist the urge to run. Avoidance behavior cost me so much trouble in the past. Now, life is much simpler, but it means acceptance of Grief, of who he really is.

Sometimes the moonlight shines through the kitchen window, and I can sing and dance as I celebrate my tender heart. He stares at me, his bushy eyebrows scrunched in confusion. His knees, bent at his chin, as he sits on the bottom step. He doesn’t understand how I can laugh and play when he’s around. I try to explain to him what it means to have joy. I think he likes the idea.

Other times, though, he comes to me at night. He sits at the foot of my bed, and it seems that we can hear each others’ thoughts. I speak the sadness of my heart, hoping the sound might absorb my pain. I tell her that everything is okay, and that I’ll always love and think of her, and that I pray for her every day and night. I wonder if her heart can hear mine. Then, sometimes, I cry.

I’m not sure how long he’s staying, but I can’t rush him away. If I’m going to heal, it’s going to take time, and I should give him all the time he needs. Really, I’m doing this for myself. No band-aids, no cover-ups, no crutches or addictions. No denial or repression, no avoidance behavior.

It’s just me and my friend Grief.