kp

Joined December 2021

197 stories

Bio

I am a non-binary, trans-masc writer. I work to dismantle internalized structures of oppression, such as the gender binary, class, and race. My writing is personal but anecdotally points to a larger political picture of systemic injustice.

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Stories (197)

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Polly Ticks
Don't show drag queens to the children! That's not the world that we are buildin'. I'll dress up a lil', I'm "straight as a fid'l,"
By kp3 years ago in Poets
rise and grind
i woke this mornin' to chirpin', earlier than needed for workin'. i brushed all my teeth, made breakfast real brief,
By kp3 years ago in Poets
etymon
this poem utilizes the OED definition of female as scaffolding to tell the story of "woman." everything in italics is directly from the dictionary's definition.
By kp3 years ago in Poets
a modest proposal
With a rising percentage of Americans identifying as LGBTQIA+, it is clear that a cultural shift in our country is necessary to achieve any semblance of peace in the coming years. Nearly 6% of Americans identify as queer in some capacity, and an estimated 20-40% of houseless youth identify on the LGBTQIA+ spectrum. What accounts for this is often the response of family members after a child comes out. The queer youth is either kicked out or leaves their home due to safety concerns and lack of support. There must be some solution for this housing insecurity amongst queer youth that adequately addresses the harm done by straight and cis counterparts.
By kp3 years ago in Pride
time
ephemeral fret ensures "the moment" slips through grasp like waves. fleeting.
By kp3 years ago in Poets
points, lines, and planes
time is to be and not to be all at once. it knows no distinction.
By kp3 years ago in Poets
omnipotent measure
time will tell, they say. or, in time, you will heal. but time does not serve you.
By kp3 years ago in Poets
miles to go. Finalist in 2023 Vocal Writing Awards - Young Adult Fiction. Top Story - January 2023.
It had been three years to the day since his mother passed. He was making the nearly two-hundred-mile trip back to his childhood home to spread her ashes with his family, and he was running late. The sun had risen several hours ago, and now he felt some distance from the task of driving. Now that he could see clearly in the morning light, the road stretched out before him, open and inviting. He allowed his mind to wander and muscle memory to take over. He had made this drive hundreds of times before; living in Southeast Michigan for the past eight years had provided ample opportunity for him to return to his parent’s home and visit while still affording him the space and distance he needed to flourish on his own. The drive was long, but he knew it well, and hours flew by like minutes.
By kp3 years ago in Pride
Part IV
I remember sobriety. It was a clear and productive time for me. It consisted of tears and writing and introspection and reading. Despite relapsing after a few months, my life drastically improved. I don’t do the drugs I used to, besides weed and the occasional drink. I regularly write inventories of myself and my actions to keep tabs on my mental health and addiction problems. I don’t know if I’ll ever be “clean” again, but I do know that drugs do not have the hold on me like they used to. The most I do now is smoke a bowl or a blunt and maybe have a drink with dinner. Arguably, my weed issues are more significant than any other drug problem I have, but it is far less disruptive to my life than the other drugs I introduced. Harm reduction, right?
By kp3 years ago in Humans
Part III
It was “locker room talk” with the boys. I waited until I was older and already out of the closet to have sex, but it was hard to stop once I did. I built quite a reputation for myself in that small town quickly. I collected partners like trinkets and talked about them the same. My male friends asked wildly inappropriate questions ranging from the deeply personal to the fetishizing and obscure. I answered them all. The question, “did you scissor” was usually accompanied by vigorously and repeatedly ramming together the space between the middle and index fingers while maintaining uncomfortably prolonged eye contact. Sometimes they didn’t say a word at all, just gestured.
By kp3 years ago in Humans
Part II
My childhood was a performance, a parade of behaviors within the confines of a gender binary. I can easily say I played like a boy. I imagined myself as male in many of my fantasies. I never minded playing females so long as they were like Lara Croft or Alex Munday, but this may have stemmed as much from a sexual attraction to Angelina Jolie and Lucy Liu as it did a desire to be like them. For the most part, I imagined myself as some hybrid force, a superhuman possessing the qualities I found most appealing to the feminine and masculine. I stormed trees teeming with spies, besting them with my wits and their weapons, a cross between Croft and Chan.
By kp3 years ago in Humans
Part I
Blue eyes determined my gender. I was a little boy until adults got a close look at my “baby blues and long lashes” and decided I was a girl. My gender switched so much when I was a child. Perhaps it’s why I refuse to pick one now. I never protested when people called me a boy. I never felt my gender was important enough to lay claim to a side like war, a battle waged for centuries that no one wins.
By kp3 years ago in Humans