On Gender




G     E     N


  R    E

What a restrictive little box.

A tiny corner of identity that ecompasses nearly all of what society expects me to be



G ender


The word just never settled well in my throat.


Queer. Oh to be queer. Such a powerful word.
So much










Yet again, a tiny little box. This word fits so well in my throat though. This word feels so right as my tongue slides gently along the bottom of my mouth and gently presses against the inner sides of my teeth. But this box, it is too small for me. If only the box could be made bigger, or I could be made….more queer? I do not fit the so called restrictions. I am not seen as “queer enough”. I am “too femme” but femme itself is a queer concept. Femme =/= Feminine. Femme is an inherently queer term. And yet….my identity as Femme seems to completely negate my identity as queer.


F  E  M  M  E

Why is this even a term I use? Why is it an identity I feel like I have to have. It is not accurate. It is not satisfying. It’s a qualifier I use in the queer community to excuse my naturally curvy figure, nearly a ruler’s length of cleavage, and the delicate make-up I use to make myself appear less harsh and intimidating. Because when you look like a cis-woman, you are automatically assumed to also be straight. When clothing designers do not cater to your clothing size and binders are impossible to shop for, and you’ve been told that you’re too fat anyway and that your boobs balance out the rest of your weight, then you’re genuinely afraid to be without them no matter how much you despise their size and appearance and the way men’s shirts don’t fit the way they should. But I’m too fat to be without them. So I take on this identifier to excuse my cis-appearance among the queer community, yet it is still not enough.


G                                                                            Q

E                                                                             U

N                                                                              E

D                                                                              E

E                                                                               R

R     E     S     T     R     I     C     T     I     O     N     S



Curtain Call

The Company would like to apologize

For awful acting, disgusting disguise

Sloppy scripts, and lost lines

For 21 boring years that brought sleep to your eyes.

Fear not, apathetic audience, for the show has come to a close

You’ll soon be rid of our pathetic prose

’tis an honor to be remembered, though the shallowest of shows

The Company would like to apologize, for all of which you now know.

Goodbye, and goodnight.



Jenna Elizabeth


File Corrupted

You fucking corrupt me.
I can’t go a second without thinking of you. You probably think it’s fun.
Messaging me with no intention to love me the way I love you? Knowing I’m on the other end willing to do anything for you.
You fucking corrupt me.
I use to be so cold- like snow, but you put a burning sensation into my heart. You introduced me to warmth and heat and my walls of ice melted.
You fucking corrupt me.
And you still wanna “just be friends” because “who knows what the future holds” with us. Because you know I’ll cling to that. As if there’s and actual chance for us.
You fucking corrupt me.
I can’t fucking move on.


Jenna Elizabeth



The rise and fall of my chest mimics the memory of yours. I wonder what it’s like to not count every second I spend breathing.

The rise and fall of my chest is not keeping time with the rushing waltz of my heart, or the steady vibration of blood through every vein running through my arms and legs. I wonder what it’s like to exist in sync with yourself.

The rise and fall of my chest stops for much too long at a time and I forget that I’m supposed to be breathing. In that moment my mind has slowed and I am no longer counting. I wonder what it’s like to never worry about nearly passing out just to stop the racing in your mind, in your veins, in your lungs.

The rise and fall of my chest reminds me that I am alive, no matter how many times I feel like I must be a hollow corpse at this point. Oh god, I wonder what it’s like to feel alive.


Jenna Elizabeth