Reality Check
I write this between working hours,
with the sound of some bird egging me on,
as I spread my wings
and talk about what it’s like to be me.
Pure maudlin,
yes, again,
but this is what’s on my heart.
This is what I’ve been told to discuss.
(I try not to ignore the muse if I don’t want to lose the meaning.)
I love the hyper-feminine women
who are able to tap in with tact.
Everything shimmers,
is soft,
is acceptable —
even on days when they’re off.
I’ve tried to be somewhere in the ballpark,
falling short with each new purchase,
each technique,
each manifesting chant.
You might catch me on a good day,
but my heart’s never in it like them.
not for too long, anyway.
I don’t hate these women.
Maybe…a little hint of envy.
Pieces of confusion.
Sad admiration.
It all looks so simple, so clean.
I might have bits and pieces,
but,
“it’s just not me.”
That’s supposed to be okay,
Because there are so many ways to be a woman.
But,
softness —
softness is something significant.
Powerful.
Maybe I want that.
Sometimes, maybe, I want to be seen like that.
Soft, but not weak.
Appealing —
Not a plaything.
If none of it matters,
then why does it hurt?
Why does it bother me so?
With all missed details
I'm still wonderfully me —
fuzzy locs and wacky toes.
In beauty there’s acceptance,
there’s foreground,
and there is “something” that’s always there.
The belief that I can achieve it too
got lost in expensive hipster underwear.
Sometimes,
all there is…
is me.
It’s good enough when I don't care,
it’s fabulous when I’ve got definitions,
it’s hard when I realize
“I cannot be her”.
Baby,
it’s ugly when I think about the times
when people thought I was a man,
and the time she laughed
way too hard
when I said, “being feminine isn’t for me”.
She agreed so fast
with her suits,
her heels,
her jewelry,
her dating past,
petite-ness,
and her hair —
and I never felt good enough.
I'm good at hiding it.
Tired of trying to be someone I am not,
ready to settle where I can,
some days I just want to be smooth
away from PCOS,
and a masculine face.
I want to be far away from my darkest thoughts,
where I recall none of them made me feel beautiful,
and I ignored it —
because I wanted to belong to somebody
and maybe,
they endured it
because nobody else was available.
I want to walk away from despair pits,
where I’ve picked myself to bone.
Where I have obsessed to make it better,
and no product really works.
I think of times when trolls win
and they say the ugliest things.
I shouldn't.
I should be “tougher than that”,
but I'm human.
I'm flesh and emotions nestled between logic.
Sue me,
‘cause I ain’t steel.
None of it is fully true,
yet opinions are sharp like cheap sushi steel —
Dull enough to prolong suffering,
Yet sharp enough to hit where it counts.
Accepting who I am has been the most confusing adventure.
Nobody tells you that part.
You don’t just wake up and feel good.
No shit —
it all takes so much time.
In all the current journeys,
wisdom quests,
and spiritual pilgrimages,
I think I like the parts when I look deep inside —
bare-faced,
maybe hairy,
and just worry about Kosen-rufu
and friends along the way.
the fluff of outside vanity is too heavy.
