Dear Gender,
Hi, it’s me again. I know, I know,
I said I’d stop bothering you,
but you haven’t stopped bothering me,
so I think this is only fair.
Is that petty? It feels petty.
I don’t care because you don’t care
Because
Gender really doesn’t care what I think.
Hey Gender,
Remember when I used she/her pronouns?
Yeah, that was funny.
I remember getting a pink sweater for Christmas
And crying because that soft pink fabric made me
Face the fact that “female” wasn’t
All it was cracked up to be.
That was a little less funny.
Hi Gender,
When they wrapped that pink blanket
Around me in the hospital, and
Introduced me to the world as “baby girl”
Do you think they saw that tear-stained sweater?
What’s up Gender,
I wish I could explain
That I’m a girl because I carry
Tampons all day, every day,
But I’m not a girl because
I’m not some man’s prey.
I’m a girl when I love my girlfriend
And that makes me gay
But I’m not quite a “she” completely
Just like I’m not quite a “they”.
I’m a girl because I have a uterus
They’re trying to take away
But I’m not when my chest
Is just getting in the way.
To Gender,
Does that stuff sound small to you?
I don’t care. It adds up.
But you know what?
Nothing matters.
To you, nothing is real.
You saw a reproductive system
And made it an aspect of identity
When in reality it’s just biology.
I hereby separate you from sex,
From what exists between someone’s legs,
And I declare you what you are:
A crisis of our own creation.
Gender,
I will not explain myself to you again.
I will not justify
What makes me feel safe in my skin
Or how I can have a day
In that pink sweater
And spend the next in layered sports bras.
I will not walk you through
The process through which
You dragged me,
Kicking and Screaming and Crying,
Forcing yourself as part of my identity.
You are not my identity.
Sincerely,
She/They