It’s what I am, for it’s what I’ve proven myself…to be
Groomed myself…to ‘she’
Longing for that proclamation of justification
The feather kisses of a man who’ll never stray too far away
So I prune my legs like twin bonsais
Color and contour, pad and tuck, pull and strut
Swallow down these tiny purple pills
That grant new life, even as…they threaten death.
It is what we are
Neither hunters nor gatherers…but carriers
Of life, of secrets, of tiny miseries and shallow disasters
Of benedictions and curses, of light and of shadow
Of your story and mine
Woman, twice born
Posted on June 20, 2012, in Poetry and tagged bisexual, gay, gay interest, glbt, glbtq, lesbian, lgbt, lgbtq, poem, poetry, queer, transgender, transgendered, transsexual. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.