iteration

my pronouns are it/its and i have been asked
if i am a computer. really. been the topic of
class debates, thinkpieces for nobody,
is it alive? mysteriously you can’t pronounce
a word you say every other sentence about
your phone and other ephemera. am i that
liminal to you? will you glance, comment
ignore?

my pronouns are it/its but you don’t want to
“dehumanize” me—as if i were ever a person
in the first place, but you don’t read enough
theory to care. you don’t want to dehumanize
me, you’ll seem like a bad ally, what if
people think you’re homophobic? but what
of the creeping hardness that makes me seek out
their confinement? my pronouns are it/its
and sometimes bigots are the only creatures

who name me aptly. they spit it out like a
schoolyard epithet yet it warms me to the core
while you and your PFLAG group will never
do me the kindness of learning my tortured lovesong.
to you i am they, the many, easy to fade
into the background—i may be trans yet i
am a person, so who would mind? no
my pronouns are it/its, and your allyship
your exceptions, middle grounds
will only ever smother this spark of light.