On defining gender

Gender is genetic, physical, socialized, performative, and costumed.

To wit:

Genetic: what your chromosomes say your gender probably is.
Physical: what your body expresses, before, during, and after puberty. This may be a result of genes or of hormones, or of other factors such as environmental chemicals, surgery, or accident.
Socialized: what your social environment expresses and approves of, which becomes internalized rather than consciously performed.
Performative: what you express through your own body, words, and actions.
Costumed or decorative: what you wear or place on/about yourself to express signs of gender. This includes clothing, makeup, personal accessories, and things not physically worn like the decoration of one's environment (a favorite art object or piece of furniture; posters on the bedroom wall; et cetera).

Poem: Beyond All Terror

This is another poem featuring T'ema, the unicorn-woman walking a superheroic Earth (maybe Terramagne from ysabetwordsmith's Polychrome Heroics, but maybe not; I'm borrowing a bit of terminology anyway). EDIT - Ysabet has approved this as set in Terramagne.

I'm going to preface this with three warnings:

First, this is yet another seat-of-my-pants poem. Its quality may not be top notch, but it's something I have to get out. Also, lots of unrhymed lines with ragged meter; I'm just using the form to tell a story that won't come out in prose.

Second, this poem deals with torture (not shown) and some of its outcomes (visibly shown). Be mindful of your mindspace when reading it. One character is traumatized and homeless, which roughens a person over time (also T'ema has been living as a homeless woman as seen in previous poems). There is also a bit of strong language.

Third, this thing is really long. There may even be a second part to it. I don't know!

--

Beyond All Terror

T'ema was standing in line at the day shelter
Waiting for her tray of lunch.
In burst one of the regulars,
His energy vibrating like plutonium
Ready to burst into particles.
She kept her senses open.

When it happened, the trigger
Was as small as a dropped cigarette.
The man was screaming in a moment
And had to be held by friends
So his wild swings didn't break a jaw
Or his own hand.

T'ema quietly hummed a lullaby,
Directing the peaceful, loving power
Into a calming aura.
A minute later, the man had sagged
Into a sobbing mess,
Head in his arms.

( Read more... )