One thing I appreciate is my growing ability to understand how small choices affect the quality of my day. I have a history of struggling with doing things that are good for me, and while I’ve always known that certain things have a more positive influence than others, I wasn’t always able to execute on them.

The world beyond the gender binary is vast and diverse. As a queer facilitator, I’ve come to appreciate the value of writing my pronouns behind my name when it shows up in a video call or on Slack. It makes it easier for people to be good allies to those of us who have come to use pronouns they weren’t assigned at birth.

When I was a child, no physical activity brought me more delight than inline skating. I had a wonderful pair of skates; silver, neon pink, and teal, snuggly fitting my feet. I felt limitless on those wheels, cruising all around the neighborhood, learning tricks in the grocery store parking lot, and distance skating past farms and fields.

Sometimes I
feel that I am
a
bad
Black
girl
because whenever
my white girlfriend
and I sift through
Netflix
Prime Video
or anything
with a reasonable trial
period
and she says “let’s
watch this
movie or that”
featuring Black stories
I instead
elect to watch a white
narrative
because it’s nice
to forget
about
racism
and the teacher
who called me
a monkey
and
the no one
who called him
out
and
being a bit
Black
and being
a bit
white

I’m terrible at keeping it a secret: my favorite time in the week is when A works from home. We spent the past month building a home office in a one-bedroom apartment, and I’m happy about the result. Monday is Uni day for her. I find it endearing that her Statistics course is throwing her for a loop a little bit.

As soon as she hands you the gift
you know it’s another one
“Trans Life Survivors”
says the cover
“Merry Christmas!”
says your sister
you have only been using
they/them pronouns
in private
for a year or so
it’ll look so beautiful next to
the ex-gay book
your other sister presented to you
on your birthday last month

I have a friend
who is so mad
at the pandemic
that he went on
a six-day crack bender
just to prove it
“I’ve deleted the numbers
of all my dealers as well as the
man who changed my mind”
he tells me
His eyes reflect a me
judging him for him
and I am
I have deleted numbers
deleted apps
food
versions of my
self
myself
“Also I saw your
childhood
friend on an
escort
website
She’s presenting
as male again”