The Autogynephile’s Guide to Depiction

Step 1: Defy reflection.
Lying is the closest to God
a girl can be, so do it often
and in the shape of a body.
When a mirror asks about your face,
tell her a story about wine and throats.
Figure 1.1: Diagram of a young woman
as an array of blades,
cutting apart sentences at the joints,
pulling away fruit from vine.

Step 2: Practice.
Like all deceptions, depiction
requires discipline and commitment.
Depiction is a mastery of breath.
The best way to practice is briefly
and frequently. When the dog asks
why it is unbearable, say it is summer.
When the waitress asks for your order,
say you are still waiting for a friend.
Expand your mediums. Build an affinity for
charcoal, inkwell, oil pastel, acrylic paint,
asphalt, tire tread, salt mine, birdwing.

Step 3: ????
The art of deception, like all arts,
is built upon several mysteries.
These mysteries come from the place
where gods are born, which is Nowhere,
or sometimes the state medical records office.
A careful cultivation of depiction
requires an equally careful ear
to the voice of the mystery in all places.
Study avidly places like Vogue magazine,
r/transpassing, /tttt/, Ovid’s Metamorphoses,
and graffiti in gas station restrooms.

Step 4: Profit.
The coffers of gender are sealed
behind the twin pillars of mythology and violence,
two yet-unconquered forms of deception.
Come wielding your fine arts of the body.
Cut through tracts of quivering argonauts
on their own journeys of auto-perception
with your arsenals of Orientalist kinnie memes,
your studious Picrew icons, your [x]phoria
playlists and your sharpened cumrags.
For the woman who lies, what awaits
is, perhaps, the act of living.

Gaia Online Amateur Cyberwhore

Twelve years old and the impending girl already knows her way
around a slick keyboard. Facing the camera: “Crawling into someone’s mouth
is like being kissed everywhere at once.” Gaia Online town square solicitation:
1 2 3 Cyber Me! In ten years I will think to myself
“that was the easiest fuck I ever managed to land.”
Foreplay is like this: Yes I’m really twelve, how old are you?
I’m so wet all over. Like a dolphin. {emoji of a dolphin}
I’m exactly four inches of prepubescent action figure.
Studious girl, always precocious, makes a habit of cramming,
dissects handjobs on WikiHow and VideoJug and HowCast.
Pillow talk spills across the left-hand corner of the browser
like afterbirth at a white cis woman’s autocannibalism dinner party.
Climax keysmashes alongside a live YouTube link
to a video of my sixth grade piano recital: cum cum cum cum