The Tumblerina A poem Skutto_Femfox

Every day, I browse Tumblr for things to say.

Every day, I find a crisis, and if I may...

Something upsets me, I must tell the world.

What good is being offended, if no one knows?

It's something minor, but my thoughts are all swirled.

There's a purity, it's the path that I have chose.

A pronoun placed, where I don't like it.

An opinion stated, and I can't abide it.

My fury is unleashed, and I find them all laughing.

I sit and boil, but the rage is leaving me.

I seem to find some understanding.

If nothing else, I briefly glimpse reality.

I hide myself from criticism from day to day.

I find inside, I can't bear to face it anyway.

I'm afraid I might find something,

One argument, the light goes on with a bing.

I've hit that day, and I know it's true.

No reason now to stop talking, me and you.

I know now what I was hiding,

My truest pain, what I had to talk about.

I know I wasted all my time biding,

And now I think that I should let it out.

I told kids they should hide who they really are.

I told them, to be something else and take the scar.

I knows things are shamed that should not be,

It's what I try every day to avoid.

But when I make them something else,

Aren't I exactly that same evil, unalloyed?

Yes my friend, this Tumblrina sees you there.

I see you flashing your skirt, all debonair.

But I told myself I was a lesbian.

What will I be if I love a man?

And if he's wearing a skirt,

Than for my sake, he'll be a woman.

Why tell a man, they need to be a woman?

If they wear a skirt, how is that what they are?

Just by adding more genders,

How does that change how I leave a deeper scar?

Why can't I just leave them alone?

Why can't their choices just be good enough?

Why do I have to try and change them?

Who really cares, what somebody does at home?

But I can't just tell them they look good.

No, I must claim it's a sign of womanhood.

Every man in a skirt is transgendered,

Never mind all of history.

Only now are skirts at all gendered,

But for my own sake, I twist reality.

Why can't I just let them be happy?

Why can't I let them be who they are?

Because in the end I know who I am.

And if they love themselves, I'm a scam.

Nobody can be happier,

Than a feminist on Tumblr.

And if it happens that I am not happy,

Then everyone else needs to be humbler.

Every action stems from self-loathing,

Every act I do to hate someone.

If I can't face my own issues,

I'll just displace them and be done.

In the end, will I ever be happy?

Not if I have anything to say about it.

I really should just seek help.

But for right now, it's enough to hate and shout.

I pushed away somebody I cared about.

I had them in my grasp, and now I pout.

If I had just been open with my feelings,

Wouldn't we all have been happy?

But I must admit I don't know what I'm doing,

And now I must change reality.

Now I see her photos everywhere.

Every time, her smile flashes all debonair.

But I can't feel happy for her,

She wouldn't admit just who she really was.

And if she won't call herself a woman,

Then I was right, when I chose to scream and cuss.

I tell myself she was a bigot.

If she was, then how I acted was okay.

But if she was a bigot,

Then why did I ever feel this way?

And now that I'm arguing about it,

And I realize exactly what I did.

I realise that I had only shamed him.

In the end, I had only hurt a kid.

He was only feeling pretty,

Why did I force a new identity onto him?

And while I can always turn to Tumblr,

I know that this is not reality.

To my friend, I hope I can still call you that.

I want to take back what I said in Facebook chat.

I never really meant to hurt you,

If you wear a skirt, than that's your choice to make.

And to this end, I bid you adieu,

Because I don't know how to flirt, and the tension made me break.

But I see, as I look around me day to day,

That same hatred has become reality.

Everywhere I look around me,

All I see is others just like me.

My movement has a hollow feeling,

What can I do, now that I'm this far in?

But this is where I find myself,

What good is thinking, about what could have been?

Even now I find myself withdrawing,

Every line I read, I feel like dirt.

I think I'll just set Twitter to private,

If I plug my ears, than words will never hurt.

I sink down deep in isolation,

I'll ever strive to be less alert.

I'll never listen to criticism,

Never have to confront my artless flirt.

But as it starts to sink in,

Why did I do to make this begin?

Couldn't I have started better?

Why does the blame all fall on him?

And if the blame doesn't fall on him,

Is it on me?