I cannot help the way this body formed,
like those foreign words
that long to be feminine,
but can’t.
Gendered noun confusion –
The problem is male.
Born to a body that is not true.
Disturbance in the eyes and the mind.
An artistic balance –
the harmony of two?
Or a jarring discord
and there’s no cure?
The cold water hits me,
behind the stick man’s door.
Is this the one I should choose?
I run from the painted, pointed skirts,
a triangle dividing life.
But I dream of diving into that world
of pink, of curves, of soft skin.
A glance into a looking glass –
Which witness am I?
Until I know
I write the poems,
irregular like language –
The day will come,
I’ll change the problem
to a singing note.