Poeaxtry's Prism

Spell. Stone. & Sparks that Ignite Change

Tag: queer journal

  • Boxers and Blood – A Transmasc Truth Bomb About Hormones and Periods

    Boxers and Blood – A Transmasc Truth Bomb About Hormones and Periods

    Shark Week

    It’s strangely funny how you can forget you’re trans. Suddenly, your body reminds you like a blaring, blood-soaked alarm clock. I missed my shot this week. Life got busy, I got distracted, and my calendar reminder decided to be a useless little ghost. Well to be honest the reminder I probably ignored. Per Axton usual. So now I’m sitting in a puddle of regret and crimson at 11:00 in the morning. As if I don’t work a night shift again. Ew. I took care of the mess before I started this blog post I’m not that deranged.

    Last night I had to leave work early. Lunch break turned into a chaotic pilgrimage to Walmart. A 22-minute drive one way, shopping time not included. You know how wild it is to shop for “feminine hygiene” when you’re ten years into hormones? Obviously they all think they are for a lady. It’s not embarrassingly obvious they are mine or anything . It’s just surreal. Like borrowing a body that doesn’t know it’s retired from this kind of work.

    Always Sneaky

    I’m never prepared. You’d think I would be. But that’s the weirdest, most tender part of all this… sometimes I actually forget I’m trans. I forget that my body has shadow memories. I forget that skipping a shot can wake up something ancient and bleeding inside me. It’s almost peaceful, until it isn’t.

    So here I am. Slept maybe three hours. Woke up drenched. Could double as a crime scene. It’s not. It’s just my boxers and a pair of shorts I really liked..

    And I could scream, or laugh, or write about it. Today I choose to write.

    Because this too is part of the joy, the horror, the mess, the miracle. The full, absurd ride of being me.

    But by far the least funny part is the way I swear the cramps hurt more now. As if the goddess herself is reminding me where I came from.

    Trigger Warning

    TW: for those late to the party. This post mentions menstruation, dysphoria, and hormone disruption. It’s listed clearly. My posts are raw and unfiltered. Also, I have a large list of potential TWs posted. I may just pop into them at any given time (also noted). I don’t reiterate them for every single post. Neither of us want that. I put a decent amount of time into listing every and any trigger I could potentially cover. And I phoned a friend for help.. thank you KYYYYY REEEEEEAAAA!!! But if you need a tw every time for every trigger I have some news for you about life offline…. You might not be ready for this side of the internet if you need a trigger warning. This is about the reality of a transmasc body that sometimes bleeds. But let me be clear I in no way aim to offend, or trigger anyone intentionally. This is just where I’m me without (repeated) warnings. ‼

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  • The Ugliest Truth I Grew From A Reflection on Betrayal, Trust, and Healing

    The Ugliest Truth I Grew From A Reflection on Betrayal, Trust, and Healing

    Truth

    Some truths do not come wrapped in lessons or soft landings. The ugliest truth I have had to grow from is not about heart break. It is at least not how you would expect it to be. It was not a breakup or a solo betrayal. I learned repeatedly that the people you let closest can hurt you the most. Oftentimes, the knives hide behind hugs.

    Relationships


    I was with this one woman for ten years, a lot of high school and young adulthood. We took a break for a few weeks, and she was married to my “best friend.” Neither of them said a word till’ it was done. Not a warning, or a check-in. Just a wedding announcement with my past all dressed up and pretty in my best man’s arm. Like we hadn’t meant a thing, like I had not trusted her with the worst parts of the last decade… and she the same with me.

    Maybe that’s what made it worse at the time. It wasn’t just about the girl that hurt me. I mean the man was my best friend. The two I thought were going to be my family forever. Turns out they both can forget I even exist in less than two months.

    Then comes in the parade of women who loved the idea of me but never the weight of me. They wanted poetry not presence. They saw me as a soft place to land not a person with his own storms. I would show up, pour in, give them real and all I got in return were lame excuses. Vibes without effort. Promises with no follow through.

    At one point (well actually many points) I made myself believe I was too much. I now know was asking for bare minimum. Match my energy. Mean what you say. Show up like I do.

    What Breaks me

    What breaks me the most isn’t even them. It is the repeated chances I have given most people before and after them. The ugliest truth is that I used to trust too quickly. Believed too deeply. Gave way too much, much too soon. I just did not want to live like the world was full of liars. But the fact simply is some people are. Some people see your heart as something to step around. Some will touch your wounds with dirty fingers. Some will allow you to carry them until you fold under the weight of them.

    And when I finally broke, I rebuilt smaller, and tighter. With iron clad boundaries I hold like barb wire. That’s what growth looked like: not forgiveness and not grace. Just knowing better and loving harder from further away.

    Growth

    I grew from this experience. Not everyone who reaches for you deserves a seat at your table. And trust should never be given before it is actually earned.

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