He takes his shirt off without
unbuttoning
and in the dead of night
when he goes for a ****
I see his silhouette
and think -
what a marvellous man.

We row a lot these days
and he is often cross
with the way I never clean the bath,
with the way I move,
and sometimes
with what I eat in bed -

I know I'll never be
the heartless soldier he knew before
or the gym bunny with two iron eyes,
He'll never be quite as blond
as I want,
nor quite as odd.

But still I look at his silhouette
dark and strange
when he goes for a ****,
and I think,
dear me,
what a marvellous man.

The English vice,
Some Etonian curse –
Set down in grass
And purple verse,

Lavatory bred
With ransacked blood,
Skin slapping and
With a falling thud –

Takes boys at childhood,
Wishes them away,
With promises of popper fuelled buffets,

And poisons them with
Vice and virus red,
And sees them unmarried
Giving head.

I don’t regret a single thing I am,
I’ve tried it out
And can’t abide the sham –

I’ll **** men
And make them beg for more,
I’ll scrabble for their love upon the floor,

I’ll love men
And love will love me too,
I’ll love for love’s own sake
And when I’m through

I’ll die and I’ll be thankful that your hate
Never made me beg that I was straight.

She laughed when I first told her
Only nine years old, my little sister
"Sometimes I feel more like men"
"Well, that makes me a frog, then!"
"But really, I'm not only a girl"
That's when she almost began to hurl
Her face scrunched up, she was crying
No longer thinking I was lying
"Don't worry, it sometimes lasts only a day"
She sniffed, "Will this go away?"
"It's always been here, nothing new"
"Tell mommy and daddy, they can help you"
I tried to explain how I felt
Took her face in my hands and knelt
"Sweetie, remember our secret game?
It's still me, I'll always be the same"
She nodded, finally eased
I told her my pronouns and was quite pleased
When daddy asked "What's my big girl up to"
She replied "He's really busy, lots to do"

My body is a curse,
A boundry I cannot cross,
for tommorow it will be a bless,
my body is a cage,
my mind the captived one,
my body is like a prison,
for my very own soul

At the intersection of beauty and power , where water falls a thousand miles an hour
Where crescendos of cymbal and songbird meet-
along wooded lanes
A swain before her bare charms  
Bewitched in her thunder* ..

Some call it bi-polar
I prefer manic-depression
It fits us better with adequate expression
We live our life in swooping loops
We strive at our peak then it droops
And the doleful drudge is destitute
Until all progress stops and stoops
To a halt, face down in mud and roots

And then we rise
Called back to life by a guiding light held deep inside
Sorely self-aware, we work until we burst
Droll desperation, at our best when at our worst
"Wow you got your **** together you lost and soulless ruffian."
Then we hit our peak and it all starts back up again