by Akir Jackson
Each morning I wake up invisible, just another faceless black body people avoid seeing on San Francisco’s streets. As a transgender homeless man who hasn’t medically transitioned, the world interacts with the gender assigned to me at birth, not my true male identity. This erasure compounded with anti-Blackness leaves me dehumanized and rejected by all sides.
When seeking shelter, I’m turned away from men’s quarters and told to sleep with women based on my sex assigned at birth.