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
The stuff of fables