Poem: A Transwoman’s Apology

Artwork by Diya Ullas

I am sorry mother
That I couldn’t be the son you wanted
The type that gives you grandchildren
The type that makes you smile.

I try to see through your glasses at times
But to me it’s painted black
For when I look at myself with it
All I see is darkness. A void.

Maybe invisibility is a blessing
You had such a good time with your ‘son’
Till she wasn’t your son anymore
She was now void.

I sit in my room every day now
Waiting for your call
To hear an “i love you” from you
With ‘you’ being all of me.

Because my queerness is a part of me
And rejecting it, is rejecting me.
Isn’t a bloody Mary just as tomato as it is alcohol?
Isn’t carbon in coal and diamond just the same?

I wear a mask every time I come home, mother
Like an elf in a kingdom of orcs
Trying so hard to be ‘one of us’
I am sorry but there is a divide in this ‘us’ between us.

For me ‘us’ means every last person on this planet
Be it queer or cis-heterosexual.
And till our ‘us’-es coincide,
Tell me how can I remove my mask?

Love makes us do horrible things.
Like harming yourself for the ones you love
And I did that
I sacrificed my existence at your altar
Giving up my ‘me’ for your happiness.

I am sorry mother, but I am tired of self harm
I am tired of super gluing a fake smile on my face all day
Of being someone else
Of being scared.

So I proclaim my shackles broken.
I refuse to serve as a slave of a system designed to hurt me
I , now, will seek my own truths.
And reclaim this kingdom that should have been mine all along.

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Abigail Silversmith Irfan is an undergraduate student, majoring in physics chemistry and math. She writes poems, does mountain biking and tries to engage in political dialogues about being queer whenever she can. She is trans and goes by she/her pronouns.

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