I like my hairy legs, They make me feel like a sunbleached cowboy. They make me feel like a long, lean man with elegant lines and a strong forehead. I like it when they’re blonde And they just glisten on my skin. Like a faux-protection or a cloak, A delicate barrier between myself And the world.
Or really I guess I just like the way it looks: Textured But smooth.
It looks wild but soft.
I think the hair compliments The shape of me very well.
I’m always amazed how the hair grows everywhere, Even on the back of my knees There is hair
And I like my boyish pretty toes.
I guess I like the sort of genderless aspect to my legs.
From far away they shout I AM A WOMAN!
But from near they could be anyone’s: hairy with little scars here and there, hairy toes with some dead skin in the toe nail creases. A sort of chunky pink toe there on the end.
A bit of dry callous on my heels. A strong, curved calf muscle. The hollows at my ankles, the delicate depression behind my ankle bones just before the rigid wrinkles of my Achilles tendon.
I like the bulging veins in the arch of my foot when I point my toes How they press their purple faces against my see-thru skin Squeezed by the muscles that bump against one another beneath the hard arched bones above I like the little bubbles of fat that pad my heels, turning bright yellow when I stand on them Never-smooth legs that even when freshly shaved still prickle Like a cactus “Don’t get too comfortable here” they say These beautiful legs aren’t for rubbing and lounging though my calves love to be pressured
i am full of ideas and passion , just waiting to set the stage on fire. i am the bud, just waiting to bloom into a beautiful flower. i am the sun that shows up everyday, all shiny and glittery. i am that written piece , just waiting to turn into a beautiful poem. i am colours that just needs to be poured on a canvas and turn into a bright fluid art. i am that one push needed i am not giving up on myself , never i have wonders to make and dreams to wake.
to finally touch a woman was no simple thing. It was in some way, like a newborn crying out; pleading/begging for the gory familiarity of the womb; yet, curious about the doom that awaits: the heartache, the toothache: the sudden rush of blood that meets the cheeks when a moment of terror creeps up. Touching her, in the sublet- paying triple for my own space, I faced her. In the California King: sheets made of nerves and soft humming; I opened my mouth, my hair spilled about. neighbors unaware of the sudden quake of demolition. My body in a construction site, rebuilt, cemented, and collected as an entirely new property. The room carrying me Like a child, eyes opened To what I had been missing.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ . ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ everything is living everything is fluid ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ we can turn nickel ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀into iron ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ a sunday ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀into a monday ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀a kiss into a lie ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ listen, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ back behind the shot office ⠀⠀⠀⠀ where we waited ⠀⠀⠀⠀ in line for serum⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀dresses ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ flowed ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ across ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ the hills ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ and ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ unyielding nights ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ took in youth ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ and returned lovers ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ([angel.s] repented ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ for the sin of ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ purity AND [i] really do think it was understoo ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀d ⠀⠀⠀⠀),⠀⠀⠀bu/t now we contend• ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀to ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀muddy footprints on courtroom floors ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀an old man getting older pleading his ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀case ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ to the laws of unyielding certainty that rivet the universe together ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
I grew up with God in the wind, and didn't fit in with Christian friends. They told me stories and begged me to repent. Though doubtful, my anxiety sparked at the thought of sin.
I was once on a playdate and the mother told me. She disowned her best friend when she confessed she was a lesbian. She told me she could only take her back if she came to her senses. It made me feel sad and sick, with little sympathy for the protagonist.
I was once told by a good friend that no one is bisexual, of course they're just confused. I knew who I was but I didn't say anything in rebuttal. I just nodded my head and took the bruise.
Once after jokingly seeing my boyfriend and another male friend hold hands, my mother told me "how dare those ******* disrespect you like that." It was a moment that shattered glass and left scars. I managed an apology after too much effort.
My stepfather once told me that gender fluidity was a confused phase, and a fad for attention. Walls were put up and notes were taken. Doors remained closed and silence prevailed.
I am complicated. I blend in to "normal" I feel guilty at times and don't feel honest.
I undervalue, perhaps, the benefit of looping everyone in. Or, perhaps, I'm just keeping the peace and heeding warning signals.
I can say for certain, it's not a fad nor phase. I've always been who I am, I just had to grow up in order to phrase it.
A confession camouflaged as a poem. Each verse is later in life. Starting from 12 ending around 26.