First, I am going to start with what I am not.
I am not my sex.
I am not that three-letter pronoun I hear and see in the back of my mind.
I am not another statistic waiting to be brushed off by a man with a white collar and slick hair.
These emotions are real and are no trend to those who really listen,
the malice bled from a heart so distraught with the life given,
the tears shed and the dysphoria that which had almost consumed me,
especially the white hospital walls that felt surreal and only grew into nightmares I suppress.
It was as real as the words, whom crawl across dictionary pages,
Seeking order and conformity in a language that boxes and categorizes what wasn’t meant to be contained.
Gender is not a black and white system as society has painted it to be,
but a spectrum that reflects the deeper side of the human condition.
We as humans have written and re-written what it means to be us,
however, we still await those perfect words which will release us from the turmoil that is uncertainty within ourselves.
That idea, I closely relate with as to how we are both, undefined.
This poem is about:
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: