I am

​

I am one minute old when they determined that

my genitals are different.

To use their language

I am to be “corrected” as if I am wrong.

 

I am one year old when they said to me

that I am a girl, but needed something extra

to keep me “a girl”.

They called it the solution, as if it wasn’t a manipulation.

 

I am five years old when they confused me

called me names that weren’t “she”

because I needed the “extra” to keep me a “she”.

I thought they were my friends, as if they could understand.

 

I am fifteen years old when he asked me why my private parts looked weird.

I was so ashamed and embarrassed.

I thought I was the one to be condemned, as if he wasn’t the perpetrator. 

 

I am twenty years old when I found them

the same as I,

as lost as I,

as glad as I;

as singular as “I”.

 

I am twenty-five years old when she embraced me into her arms.

You can be whoever you are,

woman or not,

different or not.

 

I am

this, that, them;

prudent, valiant, strident

existence.