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It's A Matter Of Perspective, Really
Location
There’s so much miscommunication between the womb and the world
That I wonder how anyone can be sure whether they’re a boy or girl
Whether they’re saying the right things
Whether they’re living their own dreams
Whether the people they love
Love them in return
No man is an island, or so the saying goes, but did the man who wrote that know
That it’s safer to live alone?
I’m not hiding behind a curtain, I’m not wearing a mask
But still the world sees only forty feet of stone and glass
I shouldn’t have to guess if my identity truly fits
I shouldn’t need to look up checklists to know that I exist
Neither man of woman born, nor woman from the womb torn
Can describe the void that lives where “GENDER” lays stillborn
Or unborn
Untold, unsworn
Even rhyming words can only do so much
When your existence is still being debated by
“Scientists” and such
I say it proud, I’m not afraid: I never want to get laid
Sex is not a human need, and sex is not binary
I’m screaming, I’m pounding my fists on the ground
And still it’s like there’s no sound
I’m not wearing the mask
I’m not behind the curtain
My (a)sexuality is not a performance
My gender is not an interpretive dance
This is not a play, this is reality
This is my identity
If you constantly “forget” the words that I have said
If you look at my face and see someone else’s instead
Then I’m not the one wearing the mask
I’m not the one closing the curtain
I’m not the one living a lie
Not I