they call me she

and it takes a second to realize they mean me

because i am many things

but despite the gap between my legs

and the extra flesh on my chest

i am not she


sometimes they think i am he

and i am happier

because they are closer

at least they mistake my baggy shirt for flatness

my strong jaw for manhood

but they’re still not there

i am not he


i ask to be called they

but even this does not fit

and i begin to wonder if anything ever will

they is closer

but still sometimes too loose

sometimes too tight

and too often i forget

when they say ‘they’ they mean me

and not some unnamed unknown person

i am not they


i consider others

but i think i will have to resign myself

to nothing

and everything

because everything works

but nothing fits

This poem is about: 


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