Nonbinary Blues

 

it’s not easy to explain, or maybe it’s easy

But i just don’t know the right words

or maybe i have the right words

But you just don’t know what the words mean

anyway, i have trouble trying to explain what it feels like

 

 

because it’s something i do know

it’s there. it’s specific. i can feel it but

i don’t know if we really have words yet

to tell you what it feels like. it’s like trying

to explain the color of a sky to someone who is colorblind.

how do you explain what it’s like if you don’t

experience it the same way i do?

i don’t know. all i can do is try.

 

 

i can tell you what it isn't.

it isn't strict, rigid. it isn't pink or she or

young lady or dresses and makeup and

the suffocating dysphoria that comes with those things.

living most of your life in a shirt that doesn't fit isn't

as bad, at first, when you are smaller, but as you grow

it begins

to

hurt.

 

 

But it isn't boy either. that would be better,

but

the idea of having to conform

of having to pretend that i was 'he'

seems just as difficult. i think i would feel just

as suffocated.

 

 

my gender is space.

it is a nebula made up of thousands of colors,

some that we can’t even see.

and galaxies that are so big we don’t quite know how to measure them

and a supernova lighting up the sky

and the fact that we are thousands of years away from the stars

and constellations that my brother taught me the names to

and stars and planets and black holes and expansion and asteroids.

 

 

my gender is the color red.

it’s the stop signs that are perfect octagons

and tomato sauce on spaghetti.

it’s ladybugs that wish you good luck

and checkered table cloths during picnics.

it is alphabet blocks and worn covers of books.

red is a surprise.

 

 

my gender is rain.

it is looking through the car window and everything is blurry.

it is puddles that seem as big as oceans

and rain boots lined up outside the door

and umbrellas floating off in the wind

and the comradery on the sidewalk,

because all of you have to walk through the drops.

 

 

My gender is me, and I don’t know how else I can explain it

but that.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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