I Own Every Gem Thrown

a lyric essay for my body

Content warning: descriptions of rape, harm, and transphobic violence.

it knows //

Does it know?

Know we call it he most of the time.

That we laugh at it? Call it crazy. Unstable. Disturbed. Invisible. Predator. Thief.

That our discomfort is veiled by overextending acceptance. That we are deeply homophobic (#pride #ally), so imagine our hatred of trannys. That we hate having to smile at it. That we have placed it in an immovable spot in our little world. A place of pity. Of archaic shame. Of gritted teeth and hollow platitudes — thank it, for showing you that your life isn’t as bad as its. That we would gladly pitch fork it away, if given the opportunity. That it really needs to know its place.

it makes you uncomfortable too, right? Oh, good.

Smile, so it doesn’t know. it doesn’t know, does it?

She does, they do.

….

it laid there, still. As he raped it. Flinching and clenching, holding its breath through the stealing. Silent for a while, before suggesting he pause and maybe have a cigarette. He grunts and continues, before he stops, out of breath.

Sure, like it is an inconvenience. Cause it is.

He goes to his car to grab his pack, and doesn’t come back.

it locks the door, and lays there till morning. The next day, it wakes up knowing a bruise is forming. Goes to the bathroom and pushes out what feels like shards of glass and blood.

it texts its father, asking for help with a ride to the ER. its father doesn’t answer. The ER is loud and clean, it is quiet and dirty.

The doctor asks what happened, it says it was raped.

I’m sorry, the doctor says. Did he finish in it?

No, it says.

Then it is probably fine. it asks for HIV prevention pills in case. it is given them.

it rides back to its bed. The pills are huge and white. it takes them. it gets tested. Negative.

it bleeds for a month. it goes to the colon doctor, who says it has a fissure. Asks if it engages in “gay” sex often?

it says no.

The doctor sticks an instrument inside it, without warning the pressure would feel the same as that night. it cries out and the rip is enflamed. He says there’s a few polyps too. A colonoscopy is ordered. it gets cream for the fissure.

A week later, it breaks out in a rash. it goes to the doctor, and tests are run again.

Syphilis.

….

it has not seen its father in a year, and asks to get drinks. its father agrees, even pays for each one.

it tells its father it needed a ride to the ER that night, that’s why it called. it was raped.

I am unsurprised, its father says, commenting on how it is always disruptive.

….

it is sitting with its mother in the study.

I don’t want it to end up in a dumpster, she says.

it realizes that is as close to affirming her as its mother has ever gotten.

….

it is so brave.

….

Can I ask it a personal question?

….

it needs to calm down. it is kind of annoying. it talks a lot. it overshares.

….

it is so loving and understanding for a ____

….

I don’t get it.

….

I saw it in the bathroom. You can tell by its hands.

….

it has better nails and hair then me, and I am a real ____

….

it likes him, but he isn’t “gay”.

….

He likes it…. didn’t know he was gay.

….

I support it, just not____ (really). I support those people, just not it. it isn’t like the other ones, that ones I support. The its that are tolerable. it isn’t about its, it is about it.

….

it makes me uncomfortable, I am sorry.

….

it makes me uncomfortable and I am NOT sorry. I shouldn’t have to be sorry for not liking it for being an it.

No, I get it. I really do.

….

Shhhhhhh, it is coming. Smile.

Smile.

So it doesn’t know.

….

But it knows. it knows.

it speaks //

I am it.

I claim it.

Love it.

Hold it.

Named it Myself, and built a home here.

Know I am Holy.

I am sitting at a bus stop in Omaha, Nebraska. A car pulls up next to me, and hurdles a container of peaches at my head. It blows up from the force of hitting the bench. Spilling all over my purse, as they speed away, laughing.

I am sitting on the patio of my favorite bar in Omaha, Nebraska. A man sits next to me, and begins to cry. His face falls serious, as he whispers sometimes I think I might be gay. We hug, and he cries. He cries.

After watching Pose for the first time, a woman calls me and says I had no clue. I had no clue. I did not know how hard it is to be trans.

I am sitting on the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette during my break at Walgreens. A man walks up to me, and asks to bum one. Says life has been really hard recently. I hand him a smoke. He becomes undone. Weeping from his gut. Tells me about his life, so many painful moments. I hold his hand. We sit in silence after, smoking.

I am walking down the street, when a call rolls its windows down, yells:

FAGGOT.

FAGGOT.

FAGGOT.

I am standing in the shop where I work. The manager spanks me as she walks by, giggling. Later the owner introduces me as his trans employee to customers.

I am walking down the street, when I realize a car is following me. I hide my face, and duck in between buildings.

I am sitting on a bench, when he asks me for a blowjob. I politely decline.

I am sitting on a bench, when a different he asks me for a blowjob. I politely decline.

I am walking down the street, when he yells out ARE YOU WORKING. I keep walking, a little faster.

I enter the bathroom, either one. Pray I remain alone the whole time. Wait if someone comes in.

I am walking down the street, and she reaches for his hand. Bracing for impact. Tells herself, it is jealous of me.

His eyes ricochet in his skull. I watch it happen. Shooting the question through his whole being: do I fuck it or kill it? Fuck or kill? Fuck or kill? Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Kill, kill, kill. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Kill.

I see him every day.

His eyes look from my face to my genitals, back to my face, back to my genitals, and immediately any other direction.

Her eyes look from my face to my genitals, back to my face, back to my genitals, and glares.

I see them every day.

It is such a permanent choice though she says. Such a permanent choice. Changing your body like that. (She will find a husband in a few years, and change her body forever by birthing permanent choices)

She talks to me like I am five. I hear her voice change. Be gentle to this fragile thing. This fragile, fragile thing. This fragile and traumatized thing.

She grabs my hair. I wish I had hair like this, it’s so unfair. So unfair.

He is drunk, comes up from behind and slaps my ass. My friend says excuse me? He says, what?! Was that wrong?

He asks for dick pics. He asks again after I say no.

He asks again after I say no. He gets mad. Very mad. I am lucky he is on an app.

He calls me beautiful and wants to take me out. I ask if he read my bio. There is a pause. He responds:

oh.

Do you give good head at least?

I have lost count at how many times I have met him.

YOU HAVE A NEW MATCH: waits a few minutes to see the unmatch happen in real time, it is basically a drinking game now. Men don’t read.

I am with my mother at an exhibit about Auschwitz, when I see a man staring in disgust. The irony is not lost on me.

He says I bet you’re a throat goat.

Yaaaaaaaaassssss queen she says. Yaaaaaaaaaassssssss. I love drag queens, can I get a photo with you?

We must eradicate them, he proclaims at a podium. They cheer. They cheer.

She says, I am so curious…………why divinity school? I am curious why.

I could never tell my girlfriend this, he says.

I have a girlfriend, does that turn you on, he says.

I am just playing devil’s advocate.

Devil’s advocate.

And I grieve. Because behind those glares and stares, is a longing. Not for me or my body, but for your own.

And I bear witness to it. I am a walking vigil, for the parts of you, you have banished. Cast off. Buried. Murdered.

Someone tells me once, after reading my poetry:

It sounds like someone just wants to love themselves.

The problem is she does, they do. So deeply. So fully. So powerfully. And you can’t see that, cause you can’t remember.

So I stand before you and nod, at your own confession.

it claims //

I know I am Holy. Holy is all that I am. Every part of me.

Do You know You are Holy?

Do You remember? I will sit here, with You, until You do.

You know.

You do.

It’s alright, Love. It’s alright.

I am it.

And it is G-d.

And G-d is You.

You.

Remember?

How terrifying.

How glorious.

The story of this body. This fat, trans, gorgeous body is mine. My own. Everything is mine. I surrender to and bless each crevice of this breathtaking glory. My hairy breasts. My thick thighs. My deep voice. Big hands. Loud mouth.

The modern imagination believes that my body is a site of damage. Of incongruence. Wrong. That is must be changed. And it tells me that every day.

For some time, I believed that.

In this modern imagination I must only be: Jealous. Gluttonous. Sinful. Perverted. Disturbed. Threatening. Aloof.

To be safe, I must be: Docile. Warm. Loving. Christ-like.

The daily assaults on my body come from every direction. From well-intended mouths, to violent eyes and hands. From others own shame, to their outright prejudice.

Still, I have the audacity to laugh from my gut, filling the whole room. To love myself, even when the world has broken me again. Even when I break myself. To smile. To hold. To be annoying. To show up, in life, without shame.

Fully. Holy. Whole.

With my entire body.

And it, is an absolute miracle and honor, to dwell here.

I Own Every Gem Thrown is a lyric essay by a.j.k. o’donnell honoring the experience of her body. More of their writing can be found on Medium and her website www.ajkodonnell.com