Revelation by Jes Gonzalez

sitting in the dimmed lights of a large conference room
i discovered
how moths must feel out of the cocoon–
sticky and cramped
before the caul fibers dry and drift

a new sensation sprouted from my spine
through my shoulders

tingling new nerves

i watched face after face become a familiar ache
on the projector screen
a familiar language litanied from their lips

(a woman can have a dick
a man can have a cunt
sometimes life mixes anatomy and spirit and it’s humans
who balk and bristle with belligerent ignorance)

in that dark room i tingled
with maybe shame–
the shame of confusion
which dried and blew off me
shame having been the misconception
that to be transgendered meant i had to follow
the set script- the desire to have a penis
instead of the vagina i’ve grown attached to

that i still intend to use
as i evolve

Jes Gonzalaz Jes Gonzalez loves poetry but wishes it would leave them the hell alone sometimes. Poetry is best written heartbroken and drunk, because otherwise it’s a thorn and all sorts of work. It just nags and nags. Currently Jes hails from Rochester, NY and works two crappy part-time jobs in the retail sector; this isn’t a surprise, given they studied and got a degree in creative writing from SUNY Oswego. They have only been published in the Great Lakes Review, mostly because they are a slacker.

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