This is a new poem.
zipped into dresses and strapped into shoes
trapped in frills and girly things
but I’m not a girl! I think
or a boy
but unaware of alternatives (then)
without a word for what I am
it would take years to claim it
to know it
to truly become it
every day a little closer
every breath a little freer
with every heartbeat I metamorphose a little
changing into myself
a truer version
more solid more real
more me
carving my way out from the inside
revelation in skin and bones, hair and muscle
slowly rising into view from the depths of myself
sometimes understated sometimes in your face
but always always me
my clothes do not make me
but sometimes they empower me
and sometimes they confine
because society loves its boxes
the message you read is not the message I send
and you cannot speak the dialect I use
if you cannot understand me that does not make me wrong
just different
just other
just me
