But let me ask you this is it the sex that defines the person 
or the person that defines the sex of the person? 

Because ever since I could fit in my mothers hands I have been raised to believe that it was the sex of 
the person that defined the person, who the person was going to be, 
what gender the person would like, and how others saw them. 

Yet, now I’m starting to think that is not true, 
that that has never been true, and so many facts that my mother has taught me have become 
opinions, and not only opinions, but opinions I disagree with. 

My love. Oh the things my kind of love has done. 

It leads to resentment, but I do not want resentment.

It leads to arguments, but I do not want arguments. 

It has led to my mother not being able to look me in the eyes. 

It has led to me feeling ashamed of holding the hand of the person I love because

 she is a she and I am a she. 

It has led to hearts locked like doors, and the constant feeling that 

you do not know me.

That not many people know me. 

It has led to controversy and hate

and parades and community and 

outsiders and new homes replacing the old ones 

and it has led to me. 

Wherever I am now, it has lead to here.