non binary
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A pretty pink caterpillar plays her part perfectly
She knows what’s expected of her
Though sometimes she wonders…
What if she doesn’t want to be pretty and pink?
[NOTE: I'm a non-binary person, my pronouns are they/them. At the beggining of the poem, I talk about the period of time I considered myself a girl. When I start speaking in first personand I talk about "they" I'm talking about myself.
Every time someone asks me about my gender,
I get a stomach ache in my brain,
Palms sweat as a battle between truths and lies appear,
When you look at me
What do you see?
Should I be in a tree
Or playing with Barbies?
Racing the boys
Jumping rope with the girls?
Can't I just get sick
In a tilt-a-whirl?
Why must I choose
This is a confession, handcuffed, miranda righted confession
I killed a girl.
I killed a girl and I liked it but-
I hate to say that she never existed.
