A/N: Originally written for the poetry unit but not included in the final because it was too telling. I needed to write a poem, and felt the urge to put on Lollipop by Mika, and so I just did, and this was the first thing that came into my head. I’m actually very proud of this, for the most part. There are some parts that still bug me, though, and I plan to clean this up later. So, even more than my other stuff: feedback please! I’m not a poet, I’m still learning how to do this whole poetry thing, and the more concrit I get, the better I can make my work. Thanks! (And yay, it’s snowing!)

identity mad

any time i hear that song
i’m reminded of you.
this is no schoolgirl crush
on the cute boy in my class.
or maybe it is,
except this cute boy was once the cute girl
and he can do absolutely anything with his hair,
some days she wears earrings
and others he wears a tie and sticks stubble to his cheeks.
the song doesn’t conjure images of moonlit walks,
or of that one night we poured our souls out to each other…
i hear this song, i think of you singing it
and being SO
GODDAMNED
ATTRACTIVE
as you danced around in your dark jeans and absurd gloves.
the guy in the puffy black winter coat,
spinning in circles
and singing Grace Kelly
at the top of his lungs
in the village at 2AM
and not giving a shit what anyone else thinks of him.
though, i suppose not, i suppose that was a girls’ night out,
you didn’t have stubble on, you weren’t bound.
still, when that drunk guy came up to us,
the bunch of girls wandering around in the middle of the night,
you stepped up,
you were the man.
i guess you can do that whenever you need to.
i've never claimed to need a man,
but it makes me feel safe.
you’re strong, i think,
i know,
even though i've never gotten quite near enough,
but your arms are muscled for holding,
your shoulders are broad and solid for crying on.
i've seen it more than once.
it takes strength
to wrap elastic around your chest until it hurts
and keep going until your real self is visible,
and then,
through the pain and the extra layers
to deal with people who say that you’re delusional
or confused
or that you don’t exist.
is that why you exist so much,
why you’re so vibrant and full of life
even on the days when high school gets to you and you haven’t slept and you look like death?
i know
(or, i think i do)
how much you wish people would accept it,
use the right goddamn pronoun.
you come into school wearing blue eyeshadow and heels and stubble,
you tell us daily that the gender binary doesn’t matter.
i’ve asked you how the hell you label yourself
and you answered, “I don’t.”
you defy categorization.
maybe labels really don’t matter,
all that matters is living and loving
however you want.

that’s something i really need to learn.