Levia Roskopf

Levia Roskopf is an English writing major with an emphasis on poetry and fiction. They’re from Tacoma and have been writing since they were in elementary school.

FAQ

1.) Are you still Trans?

No one asks the ocean if it is still water. No one asks the trees if they still need to photosynthesize. I am what I am, in the past, present, and future. I’m a force of nature, the endeavour to categorize me is fruitless. Tides will keep following the guidance of the moon. Trees will keep growing. I will keep existing.

2.) What’s your birth name?

To assign me a name was a fool’s errand my mother took up, as pointless as naming a hurricane or a stray cat. Does it matter what the name is of the winds that tear apart your home, or raze your fields? Would it make you feel better to lose all you love if you slap a pretty name onto the calamity? This is what you do, when you ask my birth name. You ask to know the name given to a disaster, but instead you will know the name that the disaster has carved into the earth.

3.) Why did you decide to be trans?

I decided in the same fashion that the stars decided to arrange themself into constellations, which is to say: I did not decide. I simply happened, the same way the universe simply happened. Not by will or deliberate actions, but by the beautiful chaos and coincidence that has miraculously made the elements you have neatly organized into the periodic table.

4.) What’s in your pants?

In my pocket, I have a handful of acorn caps. The curious little remnants of something larger. Every fallen acorn is a possible tree or a possible meal. This is how all life is, it will either grow or be taken by others for their own growth. To be an acorn cap, is to be a witness of this trade off. Have you ever asked yourself which you will be? The sapling born from an acorn, or the life sustained by the consumption of said acorn?

5.) What are you?

I’m the tides that gently kiss the shore, and the rains that flood your basement. I’m the trees that shade your garden, and fall onto your roof. I’m the wind that cools your face, and twists and turns so fiercely I’ll propel your car two states away. I’m the stars that light your sky, but remain so painfully indifferent to your plights. I am the oak, the acorn, and the life that has been sustained by the acorn.