Ode to Transphobes
Cut my wrists and see my blood. Red and warm. Crack open my skull to see each fold of my brain. Listen to the beating of my heart, the sound of oxygen in my lungs, if that’s what you need to make me real.
My voice is noise. It’s a dissonant and warped wall. And you don't think to jump over it.
My sex, my gender. You don't get it.
You don't care to.
Posted Dec 9, 2025, 9:41 AM UTC
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