Trying To Stay Woman

I wouldn’t call it vanity,
More nature of proclivity,
Its natural routine:
We’ll call it femininity.
Showing up one day: testosterone, whisker stiff,
Non-specific, un-terrific.  
Something foreign taking over,
Over which you’ve no control;
Identity’s uncertainty,
The struggle to stay womanly
Without looking transves-*****:
Trying to stay woman.

(original version found 7.22.2016)
I wouldn’t call it vanity
(though Augustine might).
More proclivity’s routine: a femininity.
Who can ignore the whiskers stiff,
Testosterone’s attack,
The fact that something foreign’s taken over,
Over which you’re no control – a Janus head,
Identity an ambiguity.
The struggle to stay woman
Without looking like a transvestite.

Trying To Stay Woman 2.16.2014/10.25.2014/revised7.22.2016
Circling Round Woman II; Circling Round Vanities II;
Arlene Corwin

I am at the age
I've always craved
and like a dog
chasing a deer
I don't know what to do
now that I'm here.

Eldredge
A simple knot

It was all I had
My only souvenir

From my travels

I had only worn it on special occasion
And thus

All events of significance
Wrapped up in a few turns

Of a piece of cloth

Eldredge
A simple knot

Maybe the life
I thought I’d live

Was snagged on another loop of thread
And wrapped up forever

Or
Maybe

All that’s needed
Is to tie another

I will always regret
Not knowing better
When I was young.

I should have spent
More time
Creating myself.

Instead, I learned
To define myself
Through other people.

Now, in my old age
I have finally gained the wisdom
To know I wasted my life.

I wasted my life not creating a life
And I'll never be a real person.

Sometimes, it is just too late.

I aim to produce an element of surprise in others. I like the look of a boy's face when I take my baggy t-shirt off, I like when I tell a joke and surprise a crowd with the punch line, I like when my vocabulary and experience surpasses my age, I like when people are shocked when I speak with the vulgarity and heartlessness with which I do. everything is so predictable and I want to think that things aren't what they seem. conspiracies and religion are intriguing because when we grow out of childhood we feel like there's nothing we will find out that is as shocking as the fact there is no Santa Claus. we are no longer on the level below adults and it feels like game over because we lose our wonder and the feeling of having it all figured out means we can't go back to a time when we didn't. so we look to something greater to alter our meager existences and we pray to the beings in books in hopes that our words will bring something more than decay to our souls.

The world.
Is.
Smaller now.
Regardless of how insignificant a life is.
The grand scheme means little.
Is it ignorance..
Or acceptance.
That perpetuates the question.
For those wise enough to answer.
Is the same as those wise enough to not.
This prison of cycles.
Rotates and regulates.
The quality of living shifts gears to auto pilot.
And the low rumble of marching is heard.
In the distance.
As it always is.
Comes chaos.
Pain at its heels.
The weary shall never rest.
Nor should it surprise..

Without knowing how it happened
A man’s heart can fail him
His father gone, his spirit dampened
His children near, for a while, but then
Gone as meant to be
Would it be worse if they stay
But while longing is an empty knee
The time must come for them to fly away

But which pieces did they take
And which pieces do remain?
There is no accounting of what did break
Only a heart that must learn to live again
To trust once again in the sky
An old friend watching as you return
Is to know life becomes a cry
As wings become flight and ashes an urn

To wait for the next great love
Is the way of heartache
The time we give to what we are thinking of
Is only what we decide to forsake
But did my every loss soften my mind
For I know of your sadness too
And in it I have finally come to find
That the time is now for me to comfort you

Souls are lost as time goes by
Forgetting the connection
The emotion once felt
Now forgotten

Far away and beaten down
Believing is non existent
Nowhere to turn
Runaway
Hide
Inside myself is the haven

Awkward silence
Not knowing what to say
On the tip of your tongue
Afraid to speak
Push your thoughts away

Some days are brace
Feel hope in your heart
But then it's not good enough
Hurt takes over
walls come back

Here we aren't so quickly