Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta Free verse. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta Free verse. Mostrar todas las entradas

viernes, 24 de octubre de 2025

Where Am I Supposed to Pee?


Pedro Luis Fernández Riestra


April 16th the courts decided,
And it marked the day when my question begins:
Where am I supposed to pee?
I'm not a woman, but the government says I am, 
So where am I supposed to pee?
I suppose the question lies in my biology,
So let's go there:

Where am I supposed to pee, biology?

And biology answers
"How am I supposed to know? If you have your womb, your uterus, your breasts,
But you have a beard and low voice because of your own testosterone."
Ah! PCOS it is! 
So I'm not a normative woman that's it. But still,
I'm no woman at all!
Oh, where am I supposed to pee?

Maybe sociology will have the answer, since it's stereotypes define gender,
 if I do it good enough, maybe they'll let me into
Where I truly belong.

Sociology, sociology, where am I supposed to pee?

How am I supposed to know? 
If by my standards the gender you currently have is none 
Feminine nose, baby face, wide hips thick thighs...
But also short hair, wide shoulders, "masc clothes"
I have no clue what you are now, let alone when your HRT will begin
The line will blur and blur and blur…
And my answer won't matter anyway. Biology is the one whose voice counts in courts...

 But... They didn't answer anything! 
My question remains, 
Where am I supposed to pee??

“Wherever I choose!”
Says the TERF. 
TERF, where am I supposed to pee?
“In the females bathroom. 
You are an adult human female
You produce eggs, it's only natural!”

But, TERF
What about women who have menopause? 
They don't produce eggs, where do they pee?

“That doesn't matter. 
They are females. 
They have a uterus! Like you,
 they shall pee in the women's room.”

But TERF not all women go through that.
Women lose their uterus due to cancer:
Uterine, ovarian, cervical, or fallopian tube...

“The answer is in chromosome then! 
XX, basic biology!
You must pee with the women then!”


I may, but what about the Swyer syndrome girls?
They have XY, because of a lack of their genetics!
“Outliers! Outliers! Outliers! Normal women don't have that! It's not that common!”

1 every 80000
 that's, by statistics, at least 3 in Gijón
 My hometown!
Not to mention intersex women

“Outliers! Outliers! You have no idea what you are saying!
It's basic biology! It's human facts!
 Women have between 15 to 70 nanograms per deciliter”

But those are white standards!
They leave me out because of my PCOS
And also leave out racialized women, who always score higher rates. 
They never got tested, the data is outdated.

“Outliers! Outliers!”

A lot of people are outliers!

“It's basic biology!”

Maybe basic does not cut it. What are even your credentials?

“I'm armed with common sense.” 

Your common sense isn't making sense. It always leaves someone behind!

“Who cares about them? They are all outliers!” 

Sounds to me that, for you, the only woman is you: 
Blonde, 
Blue eyed, 
With childbearing ability 
And money to spare! 
If you made it by selling fantasy books, what authority do you even have?

You choose over the professionals:
You choose over scientists,
You choose over anthropologists,
You choose over other cultures' expressions!

“And I shall keep choosing onward.
 I have the money.
 I have the power.
 I have the lords.
 I have the commons.
From now on, I'll choose where you are supposed to pee.”

You may have the money,
You may have the power,
You may have the commons,
You may have the lords.

But I'm done.
No more politeness. 
No more submission.
If you won't reason, only I can answer 
Where I'll pee?

 I'll pee in the men's room.
I'll pee in the bars, I'll pee in the pub, I'll pee in the cinema
And some day, when the time comes:

I'll piss on your grave.

October 2025

Numantia

 

Lucía Hernández Rodríguez


No one fights unless there’s something

to fight for. Thus

no war is crueler than one’s own

bland poetry, for a start.

When mind and desire collide

and spit every instance of spark;

stark ash, She burns up those walls

I never meant to trace on our plan

never meant to be ours, at all—.

 

Gold-dipped steel is still, by all means,

Cheap, and lack of elegance buys nothing

but a pity glance at lack of gleam;

at lack of twinkle on my opaque glass,

fragile as the voice with which I yearn it back.

Turns out stars don’t last that much.

 

Swords against missiles and leather vest

against damp, porcelain grenades.

 

But it’s no use destroying ruins

nor painting never-ending bloody layers

on a ripped canvas no longer hanging

inside our home.

That in which I never meant to melt

—never meant to share one bed, at all—.

 

Toss your head and hear me drop:

hear me fall apart and turn into dust.

Hear, then, how swallowed my dust

Inside ends up your misty hurricane,

which, in the end, I

never meant to make mine.

 

For good, war was never meant to end.

 

Meet my lifeless corpse and, mocking woe,

whisper that you never meant to take me,

at all.


October 2025

 

lunes, 19 de diciembre de 2022

The Rose

 


Arancha Álvarez Fernández

December 2022


A woman was waiting, a man was searching for love.

The lady was lost, the boy was looking for a rose,

A rose which tells the way to connect their hope.