01-04-2023, 11:35 PM
My gender has been a lifetime disguise,
its half-life, a suspicion,
bending me to its willful reckoning,
making me a mule whose unicorn dreams
drag me towards a Bethlehem
of chance manifestation.
I’ve hauled my sex across decades,
through crowds of bold speculators
who seem to carry theirs like scepters.
The confusion of the many cloud my identity
and I stumble at every rut of convention
until at last I stand motionless and exhausted.
I don’t ask for transfiguration,
or even forgiveness, only that my male stem
might flower into something less ugly,
or shrivel and disappear, leaving me free
to be merely human again,
floating in a womb of stars.
its half-life, a suspicion,
bending me to its willful reckoning,
making me a mule whose unicorn dreams
drag me towards a Bethlehem
of chance manifestation.
I’ve hauled my sex across decades,
through crowds of bold speculators
who seem to carry theirs like scepters.
The confusion of the many cloud my identity
and I stumble at every rut of convention
until at last I stand motionless and exhausted.
I don’t ask for transfiguration,
or even forgiveness, only that my male stem
might flower into something less ugly,
or shrivel and disappear, leaving me free
to be merely human again,
floating in a womb of stars.