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Posts by a. benèt

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Sex+: Two Pieces by A. Benét — Honey Literary “My clothes feel too tight, they slip off / like oil.”

i have two new poems in @honeyliterary.bsky.social newest issue!! www.honeyliterary.com/issue9/sex-t... this is really a dream journal of mine, i feel so full having my words featured here

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Today was so off 😫 none of my students did the reading and I think we were all tired so discussion was non existent

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lemme celebrate by buying some Cecred

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A Guide to Genderdeath
you must surrender yourself to the night sky. 
lay on the cold desert sand, inhale the dry
 air; let your tongue crack, harden, it serves 
no purpose here. there are no words in english 
for our bodies. body is not the right word 
for body. we must make the language. you must feel the edge of your flesh, how the skin wants 
to peel, to follow the wind. release your flesh, 
let a gust haunt your molt, let it replace 
your breath, watch as it's carried and caught 
in the arms of a cactus. a body must know 
its beginning. a breeze does not know its end

A Guide to Genderdeath you must surrender yourself to the night sky. lay on the cold desert sand, inhale the dry air; let your tongue crack, harden, it serves no purpose here. there are no words in english for our bodies. body is not the right word for body. we must make the language. you must feel the edge of your flesh, how the skin wants to peel, to follow the wind. release your flesh, let a gust haunt your molt, let it replace your breath, watch as it's carried and caught in the arms of a cactus. a body must know its beginning. a breeze does not know its end

I have a poem published in issue 5 of @newwordspress.bsky.social !

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Poets: how do you come up with prompts??

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first day of teaching went so well! had a student compliment my syllabus 🫶🏾

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thinking about sula today

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Of course 🫶🏾

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I would love to do a book club but ionknow

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here’s what I’m reading for the first quarter of 2025

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Transfem Sonnet No. 9

3 pills swallowed dry by 6 a.m.
2 bottles atop overdue hospital
bills join the collection I am
curating in my buckled
desk drawer. a surgeon draws
dash lines where my future
vagina will be. he is not
in scrubs, but blue wranglers,
laying on the bed
holding a marker. my feet
dangling beside his steel-toed
work boots. cold wet
kisses of ink, the clitoris
outlined then erased with his spit.

Transfem Sonnet No. 9 3 pills swallowed dry by 6 a.m. 2 bottles atop overdue hospital bills join the collection I am curating in my buckled desk drawer. a surgeon draws dash lines where my future vagina will be. he is not in scrubs, but blue wranglers, laying on the bed holding a marker. my feet dangling beside his steel-toed work boots. cold wet kisses of ink, the clitoris outlined then erased with his spit.


On Dysphoria

in the united states it costs twenty-two thousand dollars for shoulder reduction surgery / my shoulders were scouted by high school football coaches / who said they were made / to tackle other men /         that with the right training I could be / stronger than my brother / my shoulders ripped dresses                      in boutiques / boutique rhymes with petite on purpose / the woman who helped me pick out my first dress said my shoulders remind her / of her / brother who works on an oil rig / how everyday he is faced with the threat of death / by drowning / by a crane hook through the stomach / how everyday       I am faced with the threat of death / by men confused at what I am / by men angry they are attracted to what I am / by men angry I am not attractive enough / there is not a precise word to describe             the stares / of every person trying to solve my gender as though I am a penrose / I wear berets to cover the hair / thinning / on my scalp / I went wig shopping / and spent two hundred dollars / it is not my curls / my frizz / my hair / it sits bunched in the back of my closet / in the united states a hair transplant costs fifteen thousand dollars / I wear large sweaters to hide the pyramids that are my boobs / a lover once said they remind her of enlarged mosquito bites / another said they are the eighth wonder of the world / in the united states a breast augmentation costs twelve thousand dollars /

On Dysphoria in the united states it costs twenty-two thousand dollars for shoulder reduction surgery / my shoulders were scouted by high school football coaches / who said they were made / to tackle other men / that with the right training I could be / stronger than my brother / my shoulders ripped dresses in boutiques / boutique rhymes with petite on purpose / the woman who helped me pick out my first dress said my shoulders remind her / of her / brother who works on an oil rig / how everyday he is faced with the threat of death / by drowning / by a crane hook through the stomach / how everyday I am faced with the threat of death / by men confused at what I am / by men angry they are attracted to what I am / by men angry I am not attractive enough / there is not a precise word to describe the stares / of every person trying to solve my gender as though I am a penrose / I wear berets to cover the hair / thinning / on my scalp / I went wig shopping / and spent two hundred dollars / it is not my curls / my frizz / my hair / it sits bunched in the back of my closet / in the united states a hair transplant costs fifteen thousand dollars / I wear large sweaters to hide the pyramids that are my boobs / a lover once said they remind her of enlarged mosquito bites / another said they are the eighth wonder of the world / in the united states a breast augmentation costs twelve thousand dollars /

Grief

I ask the pastor what’s the shape of grief?
he says, dull my child. 

grief is cramped as confession. the grate in
the box the same as

my mother’s rosacea. godlight catches
the rose window, rays

resembling the blonde wisps of her hair, 
my hair. the pastor

whose breath is ash and absinthe recites blessed
are those who mourn for

they shall be comforted. his hand circles
my back, with one pat

he leaves me on the pews. my brother says
he is finding god 

and I never felt more distant to him.
I ask him what if

the afterlife is sorted by your death? 
if I died the same

death would I reunite with our mother? 
he remains silent.

in the church I think I hear the voice of 
god. it is a child.

Grief I ask the pastor what’s the shape of grief? he says, dull my child. grief is cramped as confession. the grate in the box the same as my mother’s rosacea. godlight catches the rose window, rays resembling the blonde wisps of her hair, my hair. the pastor whose breath is ash and absinthe recites blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted. his hand circles my back, with one pat he leaves me on the pews. my brother says he is finding god and I never felt more distant to him. I ask him what if the afterlife is sorted by your death? if I died the same death would I reunite with our mother? he remains silent. in the church I think I hear the voice of god. it is a child.

I have 3 poems published in Across the Margin! So grateful to Michael for accepting them!

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Powerful as always! So excited that “On Dysphoria” is out in the world!

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starting over on storygraph! follow me @ benetthewriter app.thestorygraph.com/profile/bene...

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I love this shift to physical media I’m seeing, even within myself. hopefully it turns into a bigger wave that pushes against relying on technology

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got amazing poetry news today!

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thinking about starting a book club (just for me) so I can be really intentional about broadening my reading

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Where are the girlies watching A Different World now that they took it off max??

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first rejection of the year 🎉 at least it was tiered

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“i am running into a new year” by Lucille Clifton 

i am running into a new year
and the old years blow back
like a wind
that i catch in my hair
like strong fingers like
all my old promises and
it will be hard to let go
of what i said to myself
about myself
when i was sixteen and
twenty-six and thirty-six
even thirty-six but
i am running into a new year
and i beg what i love and
i leave to forgive me

“i am running into a new year” by Lucille Clifton i am running into a new year and the old years blow back like a wind that i catch in my hair like strong fingers like all my old promises and it will be hard to let go of what i said to myself about myself when i was sixteen and twenty-six and thirty-six even thirty-six but i am running into a new year and i beg what i love and i leave to forgive me

Lucille Clifton, always.

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😫 thank you! 4 books in 2 days is a lot!

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I need to get like you! I’m trying to finish 3 books and am fighting for my life

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Do you mind giving some examples of how they’re investing in this? Wanna share with my community!

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a man in a suit is looking over his shoulder in a blurry photo ALT: a man in a suit is looking over his shoulder in a blurry photo

literally said I unsubscribed from New Year’s resolutions and then made a whole bingo card of goals

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also said “there is no space for shame or regret in my life” and stayed true to that because my forthcoming (manifesting) chapbook is all about exploring one’s desires openly, without shame

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reading my year compass from the end of 2022 is not for the weak

“I forgive myself for letting my loneliness make me feel worthless.”

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The Vertical Interrogation of Strangeness by Bhanu Kapil

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me everyday until Jan 1st: it doesn’t feel like it’s _____ (insert every day of the week)

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now I need to go through my contacts and tackle the photos

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just deleted all my emails, text messages, and phone calls. yearly reminder to get rid of all the old things that no longer serve you!

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I was thinking about checking that out at the library!

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