"Hypermobility" a poem by thepoetmiranda

An original poem

Intro

This poem is from my The Escape Act manuscript. I haven’t written a lot of list poems, but I like this one and hope you do, too.

I originally wrote this poem in about 2015 or 2016, and I pulled it out recently for some editing because it felt incomplete. When I edit an old poem and add things that could be interpreted as relating to my transition into the transgender woman I now am, that isn’t me rewriting history or dishonoring that time in my life.

I finished grad school in 2016 with the complete first draft of The Escape Act manuscript, but it felt incomplete then, not just when I look back through this new lens. If you’ve read a couple poems I’ve posted here from that manuscript, you’ve probably figured out that coming out and transitioning was my great escape. I guess I couldn’t finish the poems until I undid those shackles.

If you enjoy this poem, please consider supporting my writing with a donation at ko-fi.com/thepoetmiranda or by subscribing here.

The poem text is below, followed by my video reading.

💜Miranda📚

Hypermobility

See also: double-jointedness

See also: contortionism, contortionists, contorted, contorting facts to fit into ever smaller trunks of ideology

See also: early onset arthritis

See also: three knee surgeries before turning 21

See also: these hips sway on the dance floor

See also: I grew hips

See also: pain threshold vs. pain tolerance

See also: my wife tells me avocados are good for my sinews

See also: crackling knuckles

See also: chains wrapped around the outside of the box I was born into, and secured with padlocks

See also: sprains, subluxations, tendonitis

See also: yes, I’ve tried stretching and weight training and low impact machines and yoga

See also: a deacon in my DMs asking me if I can suck my own

See also: the diminishing returns of taking anti-inflammatory medications

She also: a front is moving in tonight, rain turns to snow

See also: escaping the straitjacket but not the asylum

My Reading