in the dark of night,
i lay down beside you.
outside, the lights cast an intricate show of shadows and silhouettes
oh, to witness such stillness in your company!
but I feel a storm deep within,
something brews and crackles inside my chest, could it be... love?

Thanks, you said
For being an ally
You meant well
But I felt invisible

My marriage status
Plain, vanilla clothes
And natural appearance
Fueled your assumptions

This Pride month
Must I don rainbows
Or shave my head
To gain acceptance?

When will diversity
Be so universal
That I can truly be myself
Without being mislabeled?

It’s a little weird, knowing what you can be.

When I was young, I didn’t really question some things. They were what they were.

There was no, “what am I?”
That wasn’t a thing because I never realized that you could be something else.

People called me a girl because I looked like one.
People called me a girl because I was one.
People called me a girl, and it never felt out of place.

And that was that.

Ignorance is bliss, in that regard.
You don’t know something feels off when you don’t know it /can/ be off.

Sometimes, I think it would be better to be blind than to spend a lifetime seeing the dents in the wall, wondering if they were always there, or if you made them yourself.