Freedom School

The Body Know

We are in a battle of stories and imaginations
Yet I constantly feel hesitations
From the careful hearted folks.
The overly considerate, the pushovers,
the taught to take up less space peoples.
It’s a shame that the stewards of the new world
are so frightened of their own power
that some of us would rather resign ourselves
to a hopelessness
to a powerlessness
to a jadedness
to a fate of a story that’s not our own
of the world we’re living in
a reality made up in the imagination of someone else…

If we can imagine, we can trust, if we can trust, we can surrender…
We can do better…
We can dream bigger…
Trans bodies are not sites of debate.
They are sites of knowledge and life.
When we lean into expansiveness, we create more space.
The body knows.

My Honduran Nuclear Family

star

I’m from Black girl magic they tried to misname,
from brown skin glowing under pressure and pain.
From a body they studied, debated, denied,
but still I showed up alive and amplified.

I’m from edges laid slick like a prayer on my head,
hot comb heat in the kitchen where truth first was said.
From mirrors that asked me, “you ready to fight?”
and I answered in gloss every morning, every night.

I’m from aunties that taught me how posture is power,
how to hold your head high even in your worst hour.
From looks that say “baby, don’t shrink, don’t fold,”
even when the whole world try to make you feel small.

I’m from mascara wands like a ritual rite,
from lashes that lengthen my will to survive.
From beauty that’s not just aesthetic or trend,
it’s armor, it’s language, it’s how I defend.

I’m from sirens that hum like a sorrowful song,
from knowing exactly what’s right but still wrong.
From names we recite ‘cause we can’t let them fade,
from grief in our chest that refuses to behave.

I’m from “be careful,” “be quiet,” “don’t draw too much heat,”
from still choosing heels when they wanted defeat.
From walking in rooms that was never for me
and teaching the air how to finally breathe.

I’m from trans girls in bathrooms fixing each crown,
“you good?” “I’m good”, while the world breaking down.
From hands steady shaking but still holding tight,
from building each other in real time, in sight.

I’m from chosen reflections in cracked little glass,
from seeing myself in whoever I pass.
From sisterhood stitched in survival and grace,
from love that shows up when there’s no other place.

I’m from Indianapolis nights and fluorescent light days,
from bus stops and block talk and policy plays.
From marble floor echoes, click-clack, I’m here,
from turning my presence to something they fear.

I’m from scanners and badges and eyes that don’t trust,
like truth gotta prove it before it is just.
From names mispronounced like they testing my worth,
like dignity something assigned here on Earth.

I’m from timers that blink like my life on a clock,
two minutes to speak while they measure my shock.
But I learned how to stretch every second I’m given,
turn breath into pressure, turn truth into living.

I’m from learning the room before learning the math,
from watching systems fail and then choosing a path.
‘Cause failure ain’t random
it’s built into frame,
designed to erase us and call it a game.

They told me abolition mean burn it all down,
set fire to systems, let ash be the crown

But I come from Black and brown builders.
From hands that create out of nothing but will.
From kitchens turned classrooms,
from braids like blueprints,
from mapping a future they said didn’t exist.

I’m from fragments
not broken, just scattered,
like pieces of futures they never could shatter.

I’m from care as resistance, from love as design,
from community louder than bloodlines.
From survival that sharpened and turned into skill,
from knowing what’s broken and building it still.

I’m from group chats at midnight
“you safe?” “I’m here,”
which really mean “stay, I still need you near.”
From coded language that carry us through,
from knowing that “safe” got a different truth.

Don’t tell me destruction
we’ve buried too many,
we know what it costs and we ain’t got plenty.

Fire is easy.
Fire don’t grieve.
Fire don’t love what it burns when it leave.

Fire don’t hold you.
Fire don’t stay.
Fire don’t build something better from pain.

What I’m from?
Sacred.

I’m from hands that hold tight when the world let us go,
from voices that rise even shaking and low.
From turning existence to evidence, fact
you cannot erase what keeps fighting back.

I’m from ten toes down in a body they doubt,
and making that doubt turn to fear, then to clout.
From rewriting the rules while they still being read,
from life in my chest where they wished it was dead.

I’m from breath that was questioned but still learned to sing,
from wings they tried clipping still learning to spring.
From roots running deeper than anything broken,
from truths that stay loud even when they unspoken.

I’m from a future that look like my face,
full, Black, trans, alive, taking up space.
Not hidden, not quiet, not waiting my turn—
I am the lesson they still have to learn.

I’m from unfinished
but don’t twist the view,
I’m not “almost,” not “next,” not “coming soon.”

I’m the proof.
I’m the presence.
I’m the now they said never could make it through.

And I’m still here
building, breathing, refusing to disappear
again and again and again.