It’s just not human or inhuman or non
human or humane or inhumane or man
or woman or mankind or kind it’s just
a sick little twist on what we already know
no magic just humans inside humans
because humans inside humans is what
humans do to other humans.
Oedipus walks down by the river bank
wearing a halloween mask to hide shame
crossing his too-thin legs blaming himself
the mask is of Michael Myers
(which was actually an ill fitting Bill Shatner mask)
because it was the first thing he saw
when he got home today and it was the first
thought let’s complete the full circle
and become not a faceless killer
but a hypersexual star man then
I can do something different and new and cool.
So a child with a mother and balloon sees and says
what is that funny man doing and mum says
he is about to drown himself.
Sex is not rape rape is not sex
but sex is like rape and rape is like
a kind of reimagining of sex
sex missing key elements
or sex that is not sex sex that is
something else as well sex is
more than one thing
but it cannot be everything
rape is no other thing it can be
everything. It can be nothing else.
Oedipus didn’t fuck his mum he fucked me
and I didn’t fuck Oedipus you fucked me
God I can’t think straight I just
want you to know I’d do anything for you
right now but all I can think about is
how that is something she used to do
that little laugh and that joke and I
don’t want to stop though so let’s keep on
keep on keeping going till we both stop
that’s sort of what this is really is it not
just two people waiting for the other to
die a little bit or something French.
Sophocles appears in bed and watches you cum
and comments on my performance and says
next time what if she acted like your mum and I say
fuck off mate go back I’m trying to be happy here
and he says no really what if like
she told you about her Mum’s suicide attempt
in front of her whilst she orgasmed
what if she cut open your forehead and climbed in
you want a cunt so bad don’t you?
Yes more than anything.
Well then cut open your head and have a cunt
there leading into your brain why not
with the clit just at your bald spot why not
why not just get fucked in the head girl
why not why not why not because
It wouldn’t be human. And you want to be human.
It would be inhumane. No. Inhuman. Non-human.
Pain. Manly. Girly. Girly girl. Mindcunt.
Cuntface. Bite my lip and lick the blood out.
I love your freckles and your shit hair
and your little Spanish song. I don’t love
you. I don’t love you. I can still fuck and mean it
and not think of you ever see I’m not thinking of you
I’m never ever thinking of you.
Alison Rumfitt is an 19 year-old transgender writer who lives in the South of England and studies at the University of Sussex. She loves mythology, folklore, gothic romance and neon-lit cinema. Her poetry has previously been published in Persephone’s Daughters, TAME zine, and cahoodaloodaling. It was featured in Nothing Without a Company’s play [Trans]Formations and she is currently writing a play of her own. Her poem “Only Trans Girl at the Party” was nominated for a 2017 Bettering American Poetry Award. She is currently handing this success by trying to form an army of wild rabbits for revenge purposes. Do not try this. Rabbits are not safe.
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