Intro
It’s been a few weeks since I’ve shared a poem with y’all. I’ve been stuck with several in an almost finished state, which annoys the hell out of me, but I can’t force the poems to complete themselves. Unlike the stuck poems, this one came quickly.
This poem owes some imagery nods to Barbie (2023) and the 1983 Crystal Ken doll box. I’ve written about being a Barbie girl before, so head over to my memoir section to read about that.
They Will Keep on Speaking Her Name, Volume 9 - Magic in a Young Girl's Heart
They Will Keep on Speaking Her Name — Miranda’s Mixtape Memoir
A few days ago, American tradition continued with yet another school shooting. The perpetrator was initially reported to be a transgender woman. It looks like he was actually a detransitioner and a fascist supporter of the current regime, but this correction won’t hit the airwaves with the same fervor the initial report did.
Before the day ended, GOP talking heads were already pushing the idea that all trans people should be at the least viewed with suspicion and at the most preemptively locked away. They want to punish 2-3 million Americans for the actions of one.
This isn’t the first time I’ve heard “lock them up” rhetoric about trans people, but this might be the most that sentiment has been spread around the major media outlets and not just the political blogosphere. It’s also been a week in which I’ve received extra death threats from transphobic people (as if my usual allotment isn’t enough).
In this poem, I respond to the lock them up chants with defiance, confidence, and hope. The poem text is below, followed by video of me reading it.
Love y’all!
💜thepoetmiranda📚
Doll in the Box
They want to stuff this doll back into the box. They want to twist tie her, bind her against the stiff back, bind both her hands and both her feet. They want to bind her— tie her up into a proper Windsor knot, trim like they’ve fashioned her hair— controlled, short, parted, and laid flat. They lay out a pressed suit on the bed for her to try, a square suit too small, too big. They come to cuff her, shackle her, drag her back. They want to stuff this doll back into that Barbie pink, turquoise-lined Ken box, place her on display, gawk at her: a curiosity, a simple packaging error. They’ve forgotten that she is the great escape artist, that she keeps a lock pick set hidden within, that she already knows the knots they tie— she set herself free before. They have a box for each of us. Watch how she performs the escape again, and wriggles her soul free.