Ever since I wrote today’s poem, I’ve gone back and forth about whether or not I ever wanted to publish it. Transgenderism/gender dysphoria/whatever you want to call it is a complex topic, and I don’t believe any adult in particular takes the decision to change their physical body lightly, even as I believe that society as a whole pushes gender identity politics in some unhealthy ways. What I do know is that if transgenderism had been a cultural hot-button issue while he was alive, the racist, sexist author H.P. Lovecraft would have had a field day with the concept. It is from that horror/parody angle that I present today’s poem.
Originally written November 4, 2021
They never felt at home within their skin—
Not like the kids at Innsmouth Public School.
They knew they were decidedly uncool.
They never seemed to ever quite fit in
With all the other girls, who liked to play
With Barbies, or pretend that they were Anne
Or Lizzie Bennet, scoffing at a man,
Only to fall in love. Yeah, no. No way.
Their interests tended toward more arcane things
Like chanting eldritch spells from skin-bound books.
No. If girls only cared about their looks,
Then they were not female, male—anything.
No: They were Legion from the murky depths,
The spawn of the great Nyarlathotep.