gender graveyard 

i buried so many genders
in the backyard. i buried them like 
goldfish. wrapped in toilet paper.
marked them each with a little wooden tombstone,
their names written in sharpie.
here was my green gender & my teal gender.
my hawk gender & my hibiscus flower gender
& even the gender that smelled like clean linen. 
no one came with me. the death of a gender
is always such a private thing. 
there is so much cis people don't get
about trans people. they don't know 
that we live the same lives.
only, trans people grieve. cis people
pretend that no part of them has
ever died. that there is no such thing
as a graveyard. i still visit them sometimes.
i bring them tasty cakes & sometimes
a bouquet of dandelions. they are restless.
they beg to take a walk with me by the creek
& i always say yes. i am a push over.
once i looked at the costume jewelry gender
& considered bringing her back inside.
i said, "what if i really was a girl?" she fed me
a drug store box of chocolates. i felt golden.
only then did she say, "i am dead. you will
have to find another." genders are not
like fruit or even like skin. they are 
something else. maybe an archway &
on the worst nights, maybe a mask.
i have seen other people's genders die.
why do we almost always pretend we are
alright when we are not? i was driving
on a magma afternoon. the melted car tires.
i came home to you. you saw my halos.
took them off one by one. the graveyard 
loud as a secret television. i hope the cis people
let it happen by which i mean,
i hope everyone is trans.