
Plenitude
If, in my one body, I’d a cock & pussy both,
I wouldn’t use them arbitrarily, toggling
back and forth on whims. Instead I’d make
a calendar: my cock today,
le lendemain my pussy.
Not unlike,
you’ll say, how you flop from your cock
to your bumhole as the prime site
where your desire inheres—and now
you need a pussy too? Be satisfied
with what your butt can do.
Dysphoria, you’ll say, okay,
but that’s subjective, an access
of fluidness, confusion
that you feel sometimes; c’mon, admit
that craving to appropriate
a pussy (given all you have,
all your enormous privilege) is, frankly,
entitled—acquisitive.
I say: do you believe these things
are zero-sum? That when I claim dissatisfaction
with my cock alone, and voice a wish
to have a cunt also—do you think
this requires that someone lose their own?
As if the global store of cunts
were finite?
Ugh,
You’re just a man you’re playing games you’re co-opting you’re not a real—
I’ve seen you in the patriarchy
saw you at that club one night
The Patriarchy
nice tunes there
Did you see him
I saw him he was there
And now he wants to be a she? a they?
Ha ha ha
Ha ha
HA!
HA
HA!
Guys maybe we don’t need to laugh
HA HA—!
Folks folks folks folks folks folks.
I don’t make claims of membership.
I have no narrative to offer
where from childhood I conceived
I was a girl. To measure by the company
in which I felt at home, more likely I
believed I was a book. I know I felt
weak and enjoyed that, fetishized
my softness, vulnerability
before I knew them to be
coded female. But that’s still
not quite the thing.
The thing, my claim,
the whole of it, is just: I’d love to have
a cock & pussy. Interchangeable
to suit the day. And also would like gender
to be overthrown, and every woman
now alive & also every boi
to adore me, and these goals not to be
contradictory.
I don’t ask much.
I blink, demure.
Solicitously, I extend
my round bottom to you.