To the Butch Boi Paper Doll on my Wife’s Cool Queer T-shirt
We are alike in how we fold into the center of her
as she lifts her arms to remove you.
Both cover our bodies-
boxer briefs below, a binder on top. We depart here.
A one-dimensional puppet
drawn flush with fine lines.
Created for whimsy you play at being real
in a make-believe world.
But you don’t even have nipples.
You don’t suffer the false pull of milk.
There’s no trace of a carved-in choice
beneath your binder’s crease.
My natal shape is all Nana-
child-bearing hips, thick thighs, lush tits
the marks of “woman”.
Like dressing a wound I wrap my bulk.
Wind tensile strength fabric round and around.
Under a crushing landslide of shame
my ribs splinter. My lungs beg for release.
Banded boxers chafe -
circle my grief-bloated gut in rash.
Stuck straight,
your arms cannot cradle a fevered child.
My own, sculpted hard with regret,
lift only the offspring of others.
Your right-angled shoulders
hold up a world out to kill you.
Mine are wilted. weeping willows,
shade for slumping breasts.
Your eyes, dots devoid of light -
blind to question marks of strangers.
And your tongue has never tasted blood
from a bully’s smash to lips.
You lucky, nameless boi.
You don't need court papers to prove who you are.
No pronouns to explain, no gender to justify.
Any stains you collect
rinse clean in the wash.
Any wrinkles you earn
smooth out when you dry.
Jae Casella (they/them/jae) is a queer poet, essayist, and nature photographer who lives on the southern coast of Maine. Their writing is informed by all the thoughts they don't say aloud. Their favorite place to be is outside. Jae's poems appear in redrosethorns journal, Epistemic Literary, Bending Genres, and Monster Beauties: A Maine Transgender Poetry Anthology. Their photography has been published in Light - A Journal of Photography and Beyond Words Literary Journal.
We are alike in how we fold into the center of her
as she lifts her arms to remove you.
Both cover our bodies-
boxer briefs below, a binder on top. We depart here.
A one-dimensional puppet
drawn flush with fine lines.
Created for whimsy you play at being real
in a make-believe world.
But you don’t even have nipples.
You don’t suffer the false pull of milk.
There’s no trace of a carved-in choice
beneath your binder’s crease.
My natal shape is all Nana-
child-bearing hips, thick thighs, lush tits
the marks of “woman”.
Like dressing a wound I wrap my bulk.
Wind tensile strength fabric round and around.
Under a crushing landslide of shame
my ribs splinter. My lungs beg for release.
Banded boxers chafe -
circle my grief-bloated gut in rash.
Stuck straight,
your arms cannot cradle a fevered child.
My own, sculpted hard with regret,
lift only the offspring of others.
Your right-angled shoulders
hold up a world out to kill you.
Mine are wilted. weeping willows,
shade for slumping breasts.
Your eyes, dots devoid of light -
blind to question marks of strangers.
And your tongue has never tasted blood
from a bully’s smash to lips.
You lucky, nameless boi.
You don't need court papers to prove who you are.
No pronouns to explain, no gender to justify.
Any stains you collect
rinse clean in the wash.
Any wrinkles you earn
smooth out when you dry.
Jae Casella (they/them/jae) is a queer poet, essayist, and nature photographer who lives on the southern coast of Maine. Their writing is informed by all the thoughts they don't say aloud. Their favorite place to be is outside. Jae's poems appear in redrosethorns journal, Epistemic Literary, Bending Genres, and Monster Beauties: A Maine Transgender Poetry Anthology. Their photography has been published in Light - A Journal of Photography and Beyond Words Literary Journal.
