Poeaxtry's Prism

Spell. Stone. & Sparks that Ignite Change

Tag: trans man

  • What Changes Do I Want My Blog to Make in the World?

    What Changes Do I Want My Blog to Make in the World?

    What change, big or small, would you like your blog to make in the world?

    Hi I’m Axton, and I will make a difference.

    I am a transgender man, an advocate, and above all, someone who believes deeply in the power of change. Change, not just for myself, but for every person who has been pushed to the margins of society. This blog exists to serve as an inclusive platform. I want to help build a future where all minorities can live with dignity, respect, and full access to the things that make life meaningful: books to feed our minds, food to nourish our bodies, clean water to sustain us, and electricity to light our paths (just to hit the key points). To me, social justice advocacy isn’t just a political term, but a way of life. And a vital continuation of the ongoing struggle for human rights and dignity for all.

    We live in a world that too often judges people based on narrow definitions of worth. One where differences divide instead of unite us. I believe that our differences should be the very reason we love and support each other more fiercely, not less. As the saying goes, “You can’t judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree.” We are not all made to succeed by the same standards or walk the same paths. Yet, that’s what makes humanity so rich and powerful. Our unique experiences, perspectives, and identities are not weaknesses to be fixed but strengths to be celebrated.

    For years, I have watched countless minority voices be erased or silenced. Their stories buried under layers of misunderstanding, prejudice, and oppression. As a transgender man, I know how painful it is to feel invisible or judged for simply existing. That pain fuels my passion for this blog and my dream to create a platform where every marginalized voice can be heard loud and clear.

    I want this blog to be a beacon for all people who have been robbed of their voice, their history, or their chance to thrive. Through poetry, essays, zines, art work and community projects, I’m working to build a grassroots indie publishing space where creators from all walks of life, whether trans, queer, disabled, Indigenous, Black, Brown, or otherwise marginalized, can share their truths without fear of censorship or erasure.

    My vision extends beyond art or words. I dream of a world where access to the essentials of life like books, food, electricity, clean water, is a universal right, not a privilege reserved for the few. This is about equity in the most fundamental sense. No one should be denied the ability to learn, to eat, to light their home, or to drink clean water because of who they are, what they have to offer, or where they come from. These are the building blocks of freedom, and until they are accessible to all, our work is far from done.

    This blog is my call to action. It is a place to foster understanding, compassion, and radical love. A love that sees difference not as a threat but as a reason to come together, to fight for justice, and to create communities that celebrate every shade of identity and experience.

    I want to challenge readers to rethink what success and ability mean. We don’t all thrive in the same way, and that’s okay. Judging someone by a narrow standard is not only unfair. It systematically erases the beautiful complexity of human life. Instead, we must build systems and societies that recognize and uplift diverse ways of living and knowing.

    The change I want this blog to make is a shift toward justice, empathy, and empowerment. It is a commitment to amplifying minority voices that have been pushed aside, to honoring every story, and to fighting for a world where all people have the resources and respect they deserve.

    This is not a journey I take alone. I invite allies, fellow creators, and advocates to join me in this mission. Together, we can rewrite the narrative, restore stolen histories, and create a future where every voice matters. Then every person will know they have value.

    Because at the end of the day, our differences are not barriers, they are bridges. And through those bridges, we will build a world rooted in love, justice, and freedom for all.

  • The Layers of Me: Girlhood, Survival, and Becoming a Man

    The Layers of Me: Girlhood, Survival, and Becoming a Man

    “Never the Enemy”

    by Axton N. O. Mitchell

    Raised

    I was raised a girl. That’s how the world saw me. That’s what I was told to be. A little girl with crooked pigtails m, buck teeth, and scraped-up knees. She didn’t like being touched. She didn’t like being stared at. She never liked how the world made her feel.

    Taught

    She was taught to smile. Not because of happiness, it was just safer. She learned to laugh off the gross comments much before she could read chapter books. She learned how to keep a boy from following her home. How to hold keys and lighters in her balled up fist.I know that just existing in a body the world called “girl” comes with a constant background noise of threat.

    Assaulted

    I was assaulted, as a little girl, as a teen, and as a man. A few years after passing the awkward transition phases; I was  years on hormones. A woman I was dating at the time liked to get me drunk enough to forget. Not that I want to but, it’s worth mentioning I never  remembered one single time. She told me it was easier that way. Then the used up it’s me not you. 

    Myth

    There’s this myth that once you transition, it all goes away. As if you can flip a switch, cut your hair, change your name, and suddenly be safe. As if I am suddenly respected. Erasing my trauma from living as a girl as if it doesn’t  stick to me. My second skin. Even after the world starts seeing you differently, it doesn’t mean it treats you right. If you  don’t “pass” all the time. Especially when you live in small-town maga country .

    Now, I get called “sir” until certain people get told, because no they can’t tell. The people that claim they “are my friends” say “she” behind my back as soon as they get mad at me. However, the flip side is worse for me. Now these people assume I’m one of them. Racist comments. Sexist jokes. Homophobia. Trans baby conspiracies.Assuming I’m a good ol’ boy. I was never meant to become the enemy. When I out myself they stop treating like the man I am. The privilege stops when I defend someone. I won’t close my mouth to save my neck. 

    Remember

    Remember not all men started the same. Some of us became men on purpose. With intention. With pain. With joy, too. But it wasn’t simple. And it wasn’t fast.

    In my late teens and early twenty’s, I thought I was a lesbian. I wasn’t pretending. I wasn’t confused. That label made sense for a while. I liked girls. I never felt like one, I tried to. I didn’t have the words to explain, but I was a man.  Not a phase, I just hadn’t fully found the truth. I have lesbian memories. I have lesbian trauma. I have lesbian experiences. That doesn’t go away just because I’m a man. Identity isn’t always a clean line. I’m a transgender man, and I lived as a lesbian. I survived as a girl. I became someone else and stayed alive.

    Yearn

     I yearn to be read. I want my work to move people who’ve never been seen. People that never had a place at the table. I’m not wasting time trying to win over systems that ignore us. I’m going to carve us something new. Each project I curate is rooted in the belief that all minority stories deserve to be told in our own voices.

     I want people to remember and know that minorities don’t just die. We live. We laugh. We have favorite songs. We have poetry in our blood and grief in our bones.

    I write because I won’t be erased. I write because I’m still here. I want to make sure no one else feels like they have to disappear just to be seen.

    Support the work that feeds, steadies, and teaches! Consider a donation via CashApp, PayPal, Ko-Fi, or Buy Me a Coffee. Thuis will keep the projects and community alive.

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  • If I Had to Change My Name Again — A Trans Man Reflects on Identity

    If I Had to Change My Name Again — A Trans Man Reflects on Identity

    If you had to change your name, what would your new name be?

    I already changed my name, legally, spiritually, emotionally. I changed it with a trembling hand and a voice steadier than it had ever been before. The boy who lived beneath years of being called the wrong name he is why I changed my name. I changed it for the person I became, and the one I’m still becoming. Changing it was never just about paperwork. It was the exhalation after holding my breath for two decades and two-years. It was stepping into my own skin without apology.

    So the idea of changing it again… it hits different. There’s resistance there. I chose this name. Axton, like a sword off the wall, like a stone I’d polished myself. It fits the weight of me. It sharpens my edges. Axton belongs to me in a way nothing ever did before.

    But if I had to change it? If some strange force or alternate life demanded a new label for my soul. Maybe something natural and weightless, like Lief, a name that drifts like wind through leaves, soft but certain. The type of name whispered in the dark and meant to be remembered. Names with strength wrapped in stillness, with calm in their bones. Names that grow quietly, like roots reaching deep beneath the surface.

    Or maybe I’d lean into the names I already carry in my middle spaces. Names no one sees unless I let them. That’s the funny thing about being trans, we become archivists of all the names we’ve worn. Some we buried. Some we still wear close to the skin, even if we don’t speak them aloud.

    There’s no name that would ever feel exactly like the one I already chose. Axton is stitched into my story. It’s the signature I sign under every poem. Every spell. The endless love letter to this life I’ve clawed my way into carry the signature.

    So sure, I technically it is possible to find another. But it would never be the same home.

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  • Living by “They Tried to Bury Us. They Didn’t Know We Were Seeds” — A Proverb of Resilience.

    Living by “They Tried to Bury Us. They Didn’t Know We Were Seeds” — A Proverb of Resilience.

    Do you have a quote you live your life by or think of often?

    “They tried to bury us. They didn’t know we were seeds.”- a Mexican Proverb.

    I live by this quote because it speaks to the core of how I’ve survived, how I’ve become. I’ve been buried in silence, shame, grief, and rejection. As a trans man, I’ve felt the weight of people trying to erase me. As a creator and as a human being who has known deep loss and deep injustice, I’ve felt small. But this quote reminds me that the soil they thought would smother me became the ground I rooted into.

    Being buried isn’t the end. It’s the start of a transformation they never expected.

    Every painful experience, every time I was dismissed, doubted, or devalued became fuel for something greater. I took that darkness and grew from it. I let it teach me. And through that growth, I’ve found strength that’s quiet, steady, and impossible to fake.

    This quote is also about defiance. It’s about being told I wouldn’t make anything of myself, and deciding to blossom anyway. It reminds me that even when the world tries to erase people like me, our stories don’t just survive. They thrive. Our existence pushes through concrete. Our art blooms in places no one watered. Our lives are proof that growth is still possible in the harshest conditions.

    So when I say I live by this quote, I mean it. I carry it like a seed in my chest, germinating every time I speak, create, or simply exist without apology.

    Much love ❤️

    Axton N. O. Mitchell

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