Sunday, February 13, 2011

the Wonder of...

It's not that I don't feel like one,
didn't want to be one.
In fact I was one, in my head
my perceptions
Still am

It's that they don't see me
as one of them
They see me as different
un-like
foreign and unwelcome

Always they've known
What I couldn't see
that I didn't belong
with them
in their clubs and groups
and secret societies

The only time
I ever passed
Was when I took the rite
given only to those
born female
and bore a child

Then
for a brief glorious time
I was accepted
I passed when the babe
was attached to my breast
While changing diapers
and pushing a stroller

I was seen as woman
while my belly was big
and I waddled while I
walked, with the little head
bouncing on my bladder

But the babe grew big
and became a child
I no longer pushed a stroller
or changed diapers
My unsuckled breasts became
again a nuisance
that I wished gone
And I ceased to pass as woman.

Now I sit here on the bus
in leather jacket and jeans
And I begin to understand
what they have known all along

I am woman
in part
but only in part
I will never be happy
to live only in that world
I am fluid
gender fluid
and flow through expression
and interpretation

I understand that I
cannot pass
consistently
because I am not there
consistently

To be woman is not my home
Just a place I visit
It is my hometown
but no longer where I live
And my heart grieves
for the doors
to the rooms
that are closed and locked
rooms I had thought I would
someday wander
perhaps occupy

But I am not woman,
not all the time
And some rooms
are reserved
for those who are
woman all the time.

So I grieve
and I mourn
and I rant and I rage

And make damn sure it is known
That while I am not
always woman
Neither am I man
I am other
Fey, Witch, Amazon, Gender Queer
Use the words that fit
Whatever rolls off your tongue

Maybe that way
you can touch on a slight bit
of the wonder
That is me.