boygirl

they said i was
and so i was
what they thought i was
when they saw my crotch,
naked and gleaming
pink bloody baby, vagina
informing entire experience

the pink card
announcing my birth
said "girl," next to my twin
brother's "boy" blue placard,
born one minute apart

strange to be
aged 38, and feel
one's penis grow

to wonder if
all the girl ever i've been
was a rouse to cover boy
customs learned,
habits embodied,
expectations met, then
bucked, all while keeping
a pretty face

to be a good girl
is to obey
to be a good girl
is not to be a boy
a girl and boy are structures
arrangements, prescriptions,
impositions, & feelings

i inherited multiplicitousness
multitudinous genitalia 
and sensation
i wonder if the man 
i feel like is a response
to echelons of repression
wanting to be seen/known
full throttle, a pendulum swing
or the true anchor
of my being

my friend uses he/him
pronouns as a gift, an experiment, 
to see how i feel. i feel
high, like i've been allowed 
grounding in some other
dimension, another framework
from which to see myself 
which offers freedom and peace.

it is ok to be a boy, it is good.
i wonder if my intense desire
to maintain the girl part
of my identity is futile,
or if girl never truly was
a devastating narrative
when i think of all the magic
all that was lived, if in anguish,
too

i will never give up girl.
the words in opposition
tear me to shreds.
how to let what is present
grow, unfurl and be
while preserving what 
is sacred about the root

do you just learn that the root
was a different color and shape
all along, that you can finally see
because you've got new glasses,
have been given permission to?

what is the girl in me 
beyond an assignment
a lived experience
a long held concept
a beloved culture
an aesthetic and connection
to realm and community
i hold dear-- my childhood
bedroom teaming in pink,
the walls, the domed glass
lamp with beaded fringe 
on the bedside table,
the sea of stuffed animals
and miniature tea sets
on the shelves,

i want to believe
there is something
more essential than this,
while feeling my mooring
so lost. while feeling myself
grow in new dimensions,
wondering if it was this
all along, and now
i can finally be
or if i am growing 
into more, a deep, holistic
amalgamation, perhaps
the trick is trusting 
what must stay to do so
without forcing the operation

to let go of the swing
(trapeze artist mid-flight,
terrified, trusting what net?!)
to forget a pre-ordained costume
to know there are so many ways
this could go, to offer back
to others their stories,
and let mine unveil