Home have you ever? and Other Poems

by D Santistevan

Home.  Have you ever?

Have you ever been accosted by the terror of something so big? Something so small?

Have you ever watched yourself from afar? Observed how you is? How you was?

Insignificant.  Immobile.  Articulate.

Have you ever felt the void of your surroundings crash in on you, restricting movement, like being under water?

Have you ever heard them call for you by a different name?

Do you also speak your feelings by stumbling over your thoughts?  Well, . . .  how do YOU work a dough of carelessness mixed by unthoughtful hands?

Have you ever stopped to wonder?  To wonder why?  Why life squats in the larvate stage?

Will it rise? Does it bloom? Will it fly?

Does an angel get its wings?

Does it mean anything, any of these things?

It does to me. 

Let us watch and see. 

I wonder, have you ever tried?            

Tried to smell, attempted to taste, that savor of home?


As a transwoman, what would Jesus do? Would she honor her spirit in the image of God? Would she embrace her calling? Would she challenge the status quo? Would she take a stand against the persecuted? Would she advocate for equality? Would she do unto others as she would have them do unto her? Would she tire of the burden? Would she exude kindness? Would she rise above it all? Would she love herself?  Would she love me?

I think not. That doesn’t sound like her at all. 

This I know.                                                                                                                          

For the bible tells me so.

Why I don’t want my penis anymore

I never wanted it in the first place.

To be clear, I never asked for it.  

I showed up to the party in a pretty dress and it was you who decided we were going to

play with the bat and the ball.

I was taught to play nice with others and I’ve done my best given this Quagmire we are in, 

but I don’t want my penis anymore.

I know what you’re probably thinking and I hope you’re not mad at me.  

I think I’m mad at you.  But, don’t worry; you’re still invited to my birthday party.

D is a queerling.  A bi-ethnic trans-femme molded from rural America and narcissism in flawless white 10-gallon hats and shiny new boots, she writes to reclaim her story and explore her curiosity in human nature.  Her writing is centered on the relationship between dysfunctia to her queerness in search of finding truth and in hope of challenging us all to do the right thing (imagine if Roy Rogers had a much much younger trans gendered sibling). She has never been published and you can follow her on some lonely trail atop her BFF, a beloved nonbinary horse.