Tag archieven: poëzie

El beso – Susy Shock

Besarse en los rincones oscuros
besarse frente al rostro del guarda
besarse en la puerta de la Santa Catedral de todas las Canalladas
besarse en la plaza de todas las Repúblicas
(o elegir especialmente aquellas donde todavía te matan por un sodomo y gomorro beso)
besarse delante de la foto del niño que también fuí
(y sentir que me hace un guiño para que siga, que no pare, que no interrumpa, porque le gusta ese beso…)
besarse sabiendo que nuestras salivas arrastran besos denegados/ opacados/ apagados/ cercenados/ mutilados/ hambrientos/ que no son solo los nuestros
que tu labios y los míos mientras rajan la tierra la construyen
y hay una historia de besos que el espanto no ha dejado ser
y que por eso te beso
lxs beso
me besás
por eso el beso

De zoen

Elkaar zoenen in donkere hoekjes
Elkaar zoenen in het zicht van de bewaker
Elkaar zoenen voor de deur van de Heilige Kathedraal van Alle Smeerlapperijen
Elkaar zoenen op het plein van alle republieken
(of juist die kiezen van de republieken waar ze je nog steeds afmaken voor een Sodom en Gomorra zoen)
Elkaar zoenen voor de foto van het kind dat ook ik ben geweest
(en voelen dat ie knipoogt, opdat ik niet stop, niet onderbreek, omdat ie die zoen lekker vindt)
Elkaar zoenen wetende dat ons speeksel geweigerde, overschaduwde, uitgedoofde, beknotte, verminkte, hongerende zoenen meesleept, die niet alleen de onze zijn
dat jouw lippen en de mijne ondertussen de aarde opensplijten en haar weer opbouwen
en er is een verhaal van zoenen die de doodsangst niet heeft laten zijn
en daarom zoen ik je
zoen ik jullie
zoen je mij
zoenen wij
daarom de zoen



How To Make Love to a Trans Person

by Gabe Moses, on http://genderqueerchicago.blogspot.com/

Forget the images you’ve learned to attach
To words like cock and clit,
Chest and breasts.
Break those words open
Like a paramedic cracking ribs
To pump blood through a failing heart.
Push your hands inside.
Get them messy.
Scratch new definitions on the bones. 

Get rid of the old words altogether.
Make up new words.
Call it a click or a ditto.
Call it the sound he makes
When you brush your hand against it through his jeans,
When you can hear his heart knocking on the back of his teeth
And every cell in his body is breathing.
Make the arch of her back a language
Name the hollows of each of her vertebrae
When they catch pools of sweat
Like rainwater in a row of paper cups
Align your teeth with this alphabet of her spine
So every word is weighted with the salt of her.

When you peel layers of clothing from his skin
Do not act as though you are changing dressings on a trauma patient
Even though it’s highly likely that you are.
Do not ask if she’s “had the surgery.”
Do not tell him that the needlepoint bruises on his thighs look like they hurt
If you are being offered a body
That has already been laid upon an altar of surgical steel
A sacrifice to whatever gods govern bodies
That come with some assembly required
Whatever you do,
Do not say that the carefully sculpted landscape
Bordered by rocky ridges of scar tissue
Looks almost natural.

If she offers you breastbone
Aching to carve soft fruit from its branches
Though there may be more tissue in the lining of her bra
Than the flesh that rises to meet itLet her ripen in your hands.
Imagine if she’d lost those swells to cancer,
A car accident instead of an accident of genetics
Would you think of her as less a woman then?
Then think of her as no less one now.

If he offers you a thumb-sized sprout of muscle
Reaching toward you when you kiss him
Like it wants to go deep enough inside you
To scratch his name on the bottom of your heart
Hold it as if it can-
In your hand, in your mouth
Inside the nest of your pelvic bones.
Though his skin may hardly do more than brush yours,
You will feel him deeper than you think.

Realize that bodies are only a fraction of who we are
They’re just oddly-shaped vessels for hearts
And honestly, they can barely contain us
We strain at their seams with every breath we take
We are all pulse and sweat,
Tissue and nerve ending
We are programmed to grope and fumble until we get it right.
Bodies have been learning each other forever.
It’s what bodies do.
They are grab bags of parts
And half the fun is figuring out
All the different ways we can fit them together;
All the different uses for hipbones and hands,
Tongues and teeth;
All the ways to car-crash our bodies beautiful.
But we could never forget how to use our hearts
Even if we tried.
That’s the important part.
Don’t worry about the bodies.
They’ve got this.

Ontroerend mooi vind ik het.  Erkenning van de diversiteit aanlichamen die we hebben. Iets dergelijks moet ook kunnen voor en door wier lichaam om andere redenen wat andes werkt dan standaard.