A Nameless Queer

Maybe this time I’ll

Get the poem right —

If gender is more than

Either or, we need to change our

Language of love to accommodate

The shades of difference in bodies we adore.

Gay, lesbian, bisexual, pan sexual—

All of these are either redundant or limited

If you understand people to be

More than just one anything.

I am a sapphic. This is the only word I find

That already exists to be sufficient.

I love women, I love femininity

I used to be seen as she, I used to be

A “Butch lesbian” in the old regime

But now I am he, so I am either

Queer, bi, or straight. So it’s like—

Fuck this shit, I am a lesbian still!

I’ve met countless male lesbians in practice—

Not many of them self-identify, but they should perhaps

I don’t think gender can be described

I think it’s a denomination of faith —

Of how you feel inside, but just as any faith—

It’s foolish and fickle and transparently illegitimate

My gender is a farce, my identity is a mantra I have to repeat to myself

Yours is the same, and I wish that

Those of us with more convincing costumes

Weren’t getting all the leads

The more I understand my non-binary nature

The less I understand all the labels

The less I sympathize with a need to categorize

And the more urgently I want to deconstruct

The sky-scraping towers of lies

Men are women, women are men—

Everyone has a clit and an ass

Why we’ve decided to make ourselves a caste system

Based on how well we pass

Is beyond me, I am not interested

In disguising my feminine or my masculine any longer

I am both, in an overwhelming avalanche of disgust and wonder

I don’t think I could be either, I don’t want neither!!

I want a new world with a new curiosity

For sex and love without blue and pink entirely.

What if we recognized humanity

More than we reconciled with labels

I want, more than anything to be a

Nameless queer—

The stuff of fables


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