The Poetic Pulse

When I first started sharing the truth of my gender with those around me, I thought that if I could succinctly and eloquently present all the facts, I would be believed. So I learned about the history of gender nonconforming people. The nuance in the neuroendocrinology, biology, sociology, and psychology. As it turns out, feelings don't care about facts.

It could all be dismissed with a short sweeping statement about the state of my mental health. If the science didn't matter, how could I prove the truth of who I am? I heard this answer come from deep within.

My existence is more poetic than scientific.

Watch as I meet your hypotheses with haiku and hyperbole.

Who I am, I am.

Born of ancient stars turned dust.

Change is my true form.

The wind and river are my mentor,

the falling leaf and floating branch are my guide,

they say to me, 'watch how I let go'.

We do not hold contempt for the chrysalis.

Imagine judging the butterfly for no longer being who they once were.

I allow myself the same degree of wonderful complexity.

This poem is about something much deeper than my gender identity. It feels closer to the 'I' that sits underneath all of my labels. How would your True Self introduce themself? What would they write, paint, or dance?